


Omnia Causa Fiunt

by ballisticbabydoll



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Original Character(s), Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 05:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballisticbabydoll/pseuds/ballisticbabydoll
Summary: Two women are brought to the past by a powerful artifact: the sword of Tancred. They are thrust into dangerous times and must adapt and learn new skills in order to survive in a world full of knights and assassins.





	1. Precarious Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Technically mostly an Altair/oc story, but there's definitely some Malik/oc.
> 
> Originally posted on Fanfiction.net but I figured I'd post it here as well. I've got about 30 chapters right now so I'll try to get them up as soon as I can!

The streets of New York City were a stop and go blur as two friends sat in the back of a taxi cab.   
  
Samantha's cheek met the cool glass of the window as she watched the small pine tree air freshener, which hung from the rear view mirror, dance as the car slowed to a halt in traffic. The air freshener was a poor excuse for trying mask the lingering smell of smoke within the cab.   
  
With a sigh she turned to her friend Amy, who had her hands clasped tightly together in her lap while her teeth worried her bottom lip. Amy was undoubtedly nervous as a first timer in the big city, all of the traffic and people were uncommon where she lived in Washington.   
  
"Are you sure walking wouldn't be easier?" Amy inquired softly, twisting a strand of copper colored hair that had escaped the hold of her ponytail between her fingers.   
  
"We'll be there soon," Sam reassured. "I still have a bit of jet lag anyways so I don't want to walk there." She knew it was lazy, but the three hour time difference was already beginning to catch up with her. Besides, Amy would be far more comfortable in a bit of traffic than on the streets.   
  
Another twenty minutes of driving they had made it to their destination: The American Museum of Natural History.   
  
Samantha hurriedly paid the driver and exited the cab, holding onto her knitted hat, which was pinned precariously to her hair with a few bobby pins, as a brisk fall wind blew through the streets.   
  
Amy seemed at home with the chilly temperature and barely let out a shiver as she exited into the crisp October air.   
  
"You see the left side over there," Sam pointed as they walked up the stairs towards the entrance, "the museum was originally made in a Victorian Gothic style, but more was added onto it later on in a neo-Romanesque style, and-"   
  
"Sam, I don't need every single detail about the architecture of every building we go to," Amy interjected as she opened the door for them.   
  
Samantha gave a frustrated sigh, blowing a strand of her blonde bangs out of her eyes as she entered the building. "I can't help it, it's ingrained in me now."   
  
Amy felt a hand latch onto her forearm as let the door close behind her, she looked up to find that her friend was staring around the room, no doubt having an architectural meltdown.   
  
Amy patted her friend on the shoulder, "It's fine, you just finished your midterms. Your brain is still in college mode."   
  
One more semester and Sam would have her master's and be out of college for good. Although the thought of becoming a professor and getting a doctorate at a later time in her life had crossed her mind. Amy, however, was wading her way through medical school.   
  
The two women walked at a steady pace through the entrance way, which was decorated by a few large dinosaur skeletons, and headed towards a kiosk to purchase their tickets.   
  
"So what exhibit did your dad want us to check out?"   
  
"A medieval one, something to do with the crusades," Sam murmured as she rifled through some of the packets and maps that they had gotten. "There," her finger pointed to an area of the map, "second floor, west wing."   
  
Samantha's father had been a curator for multiple exhibits for as long as she could remember. His job sometimes caused their family to move, but more often than not had kept him away from home for extended periods of time. Their last move had been from Florida to Poulsbo, where she had met Amy nearly four years ago.   
  
Unfortunately all of his time away meant an unhappy end to her parents' marriage which, quite frankly, she didn't really mind. They had always seemed like an odd couple to her, her mother was always trying to keep up with the changing times while her father was caught up in the past. Samantha, apparently cut from the same proverbial cloth as her father, tended to prefer his company. Which was precisely why she had moved with him.   
  
After a flight of stairs and making their way through a few exhibits, the two friends finally came upon the one they had been looking for.   
  
In her early years of college, before she had chosen a major, Sam had dabbled in a bit of medieval literature. It certainly helped motivate her to want to see the exhibit for herself instead of it being like a chore.   
  
The entrance of the room was guarded by two suits of Templar armor, chainmail covered by an off-white tunic with a large red cross emblazoned on it. A crusaders great helm completed the headpiece of the suits, and Samantha shivered uncomfortably as she walked past, feeling goosebumps prickle on her skin.   
  
The displays in the room were nothing grandiose. There were a few glass cases full of artifacts such as jewelry or ornate crosses. Suits of armor, a few swords, shields, and a large set of armor that would have covered one of their war horses lined the walls. All in all, it was a little disappointing.   
  
"Is it just me or did you expect something a little bigger?" Amy asked, running her hand absentmindedly across one of the glass cases.   
  
"Honestly?" Sam played with the ring on her right hand as she spun in a slow circle to look over the room again, "Yes. The rest of the exhibits seem to be a lot bigger than this one."   
  
"Hm," Amy walked over to Sam, a hand on her hip, "I gotta say this one's a bust."   
  
"Gotta agree, want lunch before we look at everything else then?"   
  
The redhead seem to brighten at the thought. "There was a nice cafe downstairs serving Greek food."   
  
"Sure, but maybe we should just have a quick look around at the other exhibitions up here before we head dow-shit." The ring Sam had been playing with dropped to the floor and rolled a bit before stopping against the wall underneath a weapon rack. With a groan she cursed the loose ring her mother had given her.   
  
Amy looked on with an amused expression as the blonde dropped to her knees to retrieve the fallen jewelry. "Hey will you get on your knees later for me too?" She teased.

Sam ignored her friend as she replaced the ring on her finger before moving to get up. As she rose her shoulder knocked into the rack sending a sword crashing to the tiled floor. 

"Shit," she cursed loudly and scrabbled to grab the sword. It was fine, she reassured herself, as long as it went back in the right place.   
  
Amy was now practically doubled over laughing at her clumsy mishap, one hand clutching at her side and the other steadying herself with a hand on her friend's shoulder.   
  
Samantha rolled her eyes and grabbed the hilt of the sword. Before she could process what was happening the room began to seemingly spin around her before a wave of nausea hit. Everything went black and she hoped that it was simply a power failure in the museum.


	2. Another time

Samantha could feel a headache coming on as she cracked her eyes open, fully expecting to see the tan ceiling of the room she had been in. Her eyes, however, saw blue skies that were devoid of even the slightest wisp of clouds. The hands at her sides did not feel cold tile, but cool sand.   
  
With a start, she shot up to a sitting position. She groaned as her body rejected the sudden movement and gave her a massive head rush. Sam placed a hand over her eyes as sunlight assaulted her vision. She had been laying in the shadow of a building, in an alleyway to be exact. Certainly nothing in New York, she reasoned, the clay-like color and rough texture of the building was a dead giveaway.   
  
Then there was the heat. Sam stood and adjusted her pale pink skirt and tried to dust some off the sand off of the black leggings she wore underneath. She had already begun to sweat under her black duffle coat and cursed wherever they had ended up.   
  
She was quickly reminded of Amy, and it only took a short look around the area before she found her friend on the ground not far away. Amy groaned, as she too gained her bearings.   
  
Sam walked over slowly, pulling off her coat as she went and opting for the gray tank top she had worn underneath. "You okay?" She held out her hand for the redhead to take.   
  
"Fine, just confused. What happened?" Amy took her friend's hand, legs wobbling a bit as she put her weight onto them.   
  
"Your guess is as good as mine," she replied after Amy had steadied herself. "One second we're in the museum and now we're here. Wherever here is," Sam finished lamely.   
  
"Oh god, why is it so hot?" Amy complained as she shook off her own jacket to give her some relief from the relentless heat.   
  
Samantha passed Amy her jacket, "Hold this while I look around."   
  
A few long strides later and she had made it to the edge of the buildings. Popping her head around the corner had been a major mistake, and what she saw made her blanch. Sam spun back around and flattened herself against the side of the building, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm herself. There was no way this was possible, but all evidence pointed to the contrary.   
  
When the sound of armored steps reached her ears she immediately bolted towards Amy, grabbing her arm in attempt to pull her along.   
  
"Hey, watch it!" She pulled her arm out of Sam's vice like grip, "What're you doing?”   
  
"We don't have time Amy we have to hide or-"   
  
It was too late. Samantha watched in barely contained horror as three knights appeared before them, each wearing Templar armor similar to that of the stands in the museum, though these were much too real. A gut feeling told her they hadn't just walked into a nerd convention.   
  
"We need to go, Amy," Sam whispered hurriedly.   
  
"I don't understand," her friend seemed confused, as if this whole thing was a big joke.   
  
Sam didn't know what it was, but she wasn't going to stick around to find out.   
  
"Whores!" One of the knights called to them, his voice bearing a heavy Germanic accent.   
  
Samantha tried, once again, to tug on Amy's arm in order to get her to run.   
  
"Excuse me?" The redhead was clearly offended.   
  
Sam didn't know why Amy had to choose this moment to be sensitive about some stupid insult. She continued to tug on her arm as all three men started laughing, the sound sending shivers up Sam's spine.   
  
"Please, Amy, let's go," she begged.   
  
The Templar's drew their swords, and Amy froze, as if just now seeing their predicament.   
  
"Shall we show this little whore what happens to those who lack respect?"   
  
The redhead finally began to heed her friend's advice and began to slowly back up as the knights approached them.   
  
Samantha was looking around for an escape route. Climbing up the building didn't seem too promising, so she opted for the other end of the alleyway. A slight glimmer in the sand caught her eye as her foot nudged something hard. It was the sword that she assumed had caused all of this mess.   
  
Sam snatched it off the ground, deciding that it was better than nothing, and sprinted away from the men. Amy was hot on her heels, but the clank of heavy steel boots told her that the Templars were in pursuit.   
  
The two women burst out of the alleyway as fast as the crowded streets would allow. They continued, dodging past people in sand colored robes, vendors, and even beggars as they went.   
  
The knights, however, were not far behind. 

  
"Stop them!" One called, and two more guards joined the chase as the shouting men caused all eyes to focus on the fleeing women. They could go no faster, and the crowd would not part for them. By the time they had given up running six guards had surrounded them and the situation seemed hopeless.   
  
People always imagine what it would be like if something went wrong, what they would do if something or someone threatened their lives or those of their family and friends. Samantha had long ago decided that Amy was her best friend, and that she would gladly take a bullet for her. Now that she was in this situation, she doubted whether or not she could even protect her.   
  
Pleading for mercy seemed like an attractive, albeit fruitless, action. She knew that no amount of begging would help them right now, the men seemed too keen on teaching them some sort of "lesson" for that.   
  
She had the sword, but didn't even know if it was sharp. Not to mention that she had almost no experience in fighting. Once, at her father's behest, she had gone with him to some LARPing event when he was interested in how war was waged physically in the past, but she doubted even that sad excuse for training would help. It would have to be enough. If she were elsewhere Sam might have even laughed at the thought of her father's nerdy obsession amounting to anything.   
  
Now was not the time, though, even if she only gave Amy a chance to escape it would be enough.   
  
With trembling hands she moved into a poor excuse for a defensive stance. The sword felt much heavier than it had moments ago, when she was not relying on it to save both of their lives. Sweat dripped into her eye, and she quickly wiping it away before regaining her two handed grip on the sword.   
  
The Templars were howling with laughter now at her attempt at bravery. One of the guards broke apart from the others and stepped forward.   
  
The man halted mid-step, a blade had been stabbed into the side of his neck. Both the guards and the women stared in horror as he keeled over, blood flowing from his mouth and turning the sand beneath him red. Behind him stood a man in white robes, his face shielded from view by the shadow that his pointed hood cast.   
  
"An assassin!" One of the Templars cried.   
  
The two women were momentarily forgotten as the knights and guards made for the assassin, and Sam was happier for it. Now they could escape.   
  
"Run!" The blonde commanded her friend as she pushed her away from the fray.   
  
Amy took off with Sam on her heels. They got a few steps away before Samantha felt a hand clutch onto her wrist and she turned around to see one of the guards grinning at her.   
  
"Sam!" Amy stopped in her tracks and called for her friend.   
  
"Go!" The other woman cried out and struggled against the guard's unyielding grip, "I'll catch up to you!"   
  
Amy appeared torn, but nodded after a moment's hesitation and took off into another side alley down the street.   
  
With a vengeance Sam spun around and kneed the man in his crotch, causing him to double over in pain. "You bitch," he swore as he clutched himself.   
  
Remembering the sword in her other hand Samantha harshly slammed the guard on his head with the hilt, causing the man's grip to go slack. She tore her wrist out of his hand.   
  
The cacophony of swords clashing behind her told her that the guards were still fighting the assassin. She turned around just in time to feel the hilt of one of the other guards swords smash into the side of her head. Without any other coherent thought she was out cold.   


* * *

  
Altair pulled his sword from the Templar's dead body and wiped the soiled blade on his enemy's tunic.   
  
He had set aside this day for himself so that he could enjoy some leisure time, and here he was, fighting Saracens and Templar's as usual. He sheathed his sword ignoring groans from the injured and the screams of bystanders.   
  
A hint of movement caught his eye. One of the lower Saracen soldiers was crawling across the ground towards one of the women he had just saved. Altair casually walked over to the man and put his hidden blade to the guard's throat. "Another move and you die," he growled.   
  
The man stopped crawling and glared up at the assassin. "Why do you save them? They are nothing but whores," he spat.   
  
Altair looked over at the woman. Blonde bangs framed her face and barely concealed a swollen red mark that was appearing near the right side of her temple. His eyes trailed down to the sword that was loosely held in her slackened grip.   
  
"It is our duty to protect the innocent," he answered as he stood and then swiftly kicked the Saracen in the face to knock him out once more.   
  
The assassin stood over the woman for a moment, the sun casting his shadow over her body, as he contemplated what he would do. She was most certainly not dead, and he did not just save her so that she could be stumbled upon by more guards that would no doubt be arriving soon.   
  
Altair gathered the blonde into his arms, making sure not to further agitate her head injury, and picked up the sword she had carried. The assassin began to search for the other woman that had been with her, ignoring those bystanders who continued to stare at him as he wandered down the street.   
  
A quick glance into an alleyway proved to be the answer, as he easily spotted the woman's copper colored hair as she attempted to hide behind a few storage barrels.   
  
Amy caught sight of the man as he came into the alley she was hiding in. He had proved himself to be no threat to them, so she did not hesitate to run out from her hiding spot to make sure that her friend was all right.   
  
The man moved to rest Sam on the ground with her back up against the wall. In a matter of moments Amy could see her beginning to stir.   
  
"You saved us," her voice was barely a whisper, but she cleared her throat and continued a bit louder, "thank you."   
  
The man didn't seem to know what to say, he knelt there for a moment, silent, before replying. "You are safe now, but I suggest that you stay out of sight for a while-"   
  
At that moment Samantha became aware of the world as well as her pounding headache. She moaned as she touched the welt that was surely beginning to form on her head.   
  
"And do not touch your injuries." He finished and gently swatted Sam's hand away from her head.   
  
The hooded man moved as if to leave.   
  
"I know you are a stranger, but we could use your help." Samantha felt that she should at least try to find some aid for them. After he left they would be walking around blindly again, and she didn't want to be out on the streets after dark. Not to mention that they didn't have a place to stay where she could sleep off her awful migraine.   
  
"I am not a charity service," the man said, not unkindly, but with a note of finality and perhaps even a hint of exhaustion.   
  
"Maybe we could find a way to repay you then? We just need some way to gain our bearings here." Sam figured appealing to reason may work.   
  
Amy did not seem to like any of this, she stood with her arms folded over her chest, still clutching onto their jackets even after their near brush with disaster. She did not say anything though, and must have realized how desperate they were for some form of shelter.   
  
"Besides, you saved our lives, and we owe you for that. Without you, even now, we would be dead by nightfall." Sam wasn't sure if that was quite true, at least she hoped not. However, that seemed enough to change his mind.   
  
The man sighed loudly. "Very well, just do not make me regret this decision. I can give you a day worth of shelter, but no more."   
  
Somehow he already knew that he would regret this. Bringing outsiders to the bureau would no doubt count as compromising the brotherhood, but even so, he was known to bend the rules occasionally.   
  
He didn't know if the women were whores, as the Templars had said, but they certainly were not from Damascus. Their clothing was nothing like he had seen before, and they were paler than any of the women native to the area. No doubt they had come over from some European country. That fact, too, made him uneasy, as they could very well be spies for the Templars.   
  
He had already started down the streets while his thoughts rambled. He could sense the two women were not far behind, sticking close in fear of another attack.   
  
He could make out some of their whispering as they continued on through the streets. The conversation became clearer as the crowds of people thinned out and the street vendors began to close shop.   
  
"They said he was an assassin, Sam, doesn't that mean anything to you?" That was the auburn haired woman's voice.   
  
"Yes well he wasn't trying to assassinate us." The blonde, Sam, snapped back, seemingly irritated.   
  
"It's not that I don't appreciate him saving our lives, because I do, it's just that," she paused for a moment, "do you think that maybe we're walking from one danger into another?"   
  
Altair kept his head up, pretending to be occupied with finding his way through the maze of streets, but in all honesty he had already circled the bureau twice so that he could hear the rest of their conservation. The two women didn't seem to notice.   
  
"Maybe?" The blonde said uncertainly, "I don't know, I'm just trying my best here."   
  
There was a sudden lull in conversation, it happened so quickly that he nearly turned around to see if they were still there.   
  
A sudden patter of footsteps informed Altair that one of them was coming to catch up with him. A tap on his shoulder was the excuse he needed to turn around to make sure that they did not know about his eavesdropping.   
  
"We've passed this area three times, are we lost?"   
  
It was Sam that spoke, she was holding her head and was obviously in pain, explaining the sound of irritation he had heard in her voice earlier. Though she was still sharp enough, it seemed.   
  
"The place we are going to is a bit hard to find." That was no lie, he figured, the hidden door on the back of the building was even harder to find than the rooftop entrance.   
  
This seemed to sate some of her curiosity and he went back to pretending to search for the door. After what he assumed seemed like a logical amount of time he announced that they were there. Altair pressed his fingers into the ridge of the door that was made to look nearly identical to the walls of the building. The crack there was so small that it could barely be made out unless someone was really looking for it. He pulled hard and the door swung out just enough to allow one person through at a time.   
  
The assassin quickly ushered them into hideout so that they would avoid being seen.   
  
"You will speak to no one and will remain in this room until I come to retrieve you." He explained as he rushed them down the dim hallway to an empty room.   
  
Sam and Amy were pushed through the doorway and could not even protest before the door was closed behind them.   
  
"Suppose the room service here is as good as the one in our hotel?" Amy joked as she poked at a bit of stale bread and cheese that had been left on a small table in the room.   
  
"This was a mistake," Samantha muttered as she paced the room, head in her hands, "this was a big mistake."   
  
"There is nothing you could have done, Sam," her friend offered.   
  
"But what if I put us in even more danger? This century is not friendly to women, that's obvious, but we could be killed or sold into slavery or all sorts of very bad things!" Samantha was at a loss for what to do. This situation seemed so uncontrollable and she felt helpless. "Amy you were right. We should have never trusted him to bring us someplace safe."   
  
Amy put a comforting hand on her shoulder to stop her pacing. "We're together, right? So we just stay together and see what the morning brings."   
  
"I don't know how you could see this optimistically, especially after our discussion on the way here, but I'll try." Sam sighed in discontent as she watched Amy move over to the bed in the corner of the room.   
  
She didn't know where they were or when they were. All she knew was that she was tired, her head ached, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep and wake up back in New York.


	3. Oulandish Notions

Sam's head was pounding when she woke, and even Amy's soft snores from beside her sounded like the thundering steps of giants. She rubbed her temples in attempt to alleviate some of the pain, but it was a fruitless effort. It must have been at least an hour that she lay there until the migraine had subsided to a dull throb.

Samantha could not stand laying there any longer and slowly rose into a sitting position. The room was utterly dark, due to its lack of windows, and she was sure that there was no way she could find a way to light the candle that she had blown out the night before.   
  
The impenetrable darkness caused many a soft curse to be uttered as Sam bumped into some unseen table in search of her shoes. Once those were found and in place on her feet she felt along the wall until her hand met the cold metal of the door handle. She turned it with bated breath as she attempted to be as quiet as possible. A single line of light filled the room as the door cracked open. Samantha opened the door as far as she dared before slipping into the hallway.   
  
Everything was quiet, with no one in sight. With a soft sigh Sam realized that she hadn't thought of what she might do next. The hallway was lit, albeit dimly, so she could make out the three other doors that surrounded theirs. One of them could lead to the man who had helped them, the assassin. The thought that the other doors could lead to someone much worse had her hesitating in the doorway.   
  
Samantha headed towards the last door of the hallway. Acting on her impulses could doom her just as much as inaction so there was really no reason why she shouldn't explore.   
  
Each step had her cringing, the dull thud of her heeled boots sounding three times louder to her now that she was trying to be silent. Time seemed to drag on forever as she made her way, hoping that no one would catch her sneaking around. The door finally loomed before her. Her hands hesitated on the knob for a moment before she burst into the room.   
  
It was empty, at least of people.   
  
Samantha counted her blessings as she shut the door behind her. The room was a sort of office, at least that was how it appeared to her, with a long wooden table littered with small stacks of papers. Two chairs sat beside it and another table held what looked like a pitcher holding water, but under closer inspection contained quite a bit of wine.   
  
Her feet took her to the table, and she hoped that the papers held information that would help her gain some sort of bearing as to where they had ended up. The papers were full of hand drawn maps which she couldn't even being to make head or tail of. She wasn't a cartographer and could barely remember any of her geography classes, so the papers weren't of much use to her.   
  
Sam groaned loudly and slumped into one of the chairs.   
  
"You sound frustrated."   
  
The voice was nearly right behind her and she jumped slightly before her body tensed and she stopped moving completely. It was the man from yesterday.   
  
"Why would I be?" Her attempt to sound nonchalant was broken by her wavering voice.   
  
"Perhaps because you are looking for something, thief." The last word came out harshly before he moved around where she was sitting to stand before her.   
  
"I wasn't stealing, nor have I stolen, anything," Sam answered, keeping a wary eye on the museum's sword that he held in his hand.   
  
"Kindly explain how you came upon this relic then."   
  
She could barely see his face from underneath his hood, which unnerved her even more. He must have taken her extended silence as insolence because he then placed the flat of the blade on her bare shoulder, the cool metal bit into her skin just as much as if it were actually cutting her. Sam wished she had her coat.   
  
"I didn't steal that sword. I just happened upon it." Samantha didn't think that was really a lie. She hadn't meant to take it from the museum.   
  
The blade was turned, the flat of it now against her cheek. She wanted to cry, wanted to yell and tell this man that she wasn't to blame for all of this. Sam just sat there, though, waiting for something to happen.   
  
"Do not feed me your lies. I was searching for the Sword of Tancred for months only to find that it had completely disappeared from the monastery where it was being kept."   
  
Samantha finally worked up the courage to look up at the assassin. From what she could see his eyes were burning with anger, all of it directed towards her.   
  
She held her hands up in surrender. "Look, I don't whose sword that is or where you thought it was. I found it in a museum and now I'm here. If anything I should be the one asking for an explanation."   
  
Sam surmised that that had been the wrong thing to say as the assassin growled angrily.   
  
"I will no longer stand for this. Tell me how you stole this or I swear I will-"   
  
The door flew open, banging loudly against the wall behind it.   
  
Amy skidded to a halt in the room as Altair pulled the blade away from Sam to point it towards her friend. A man who Sam had yet to meet appeared in the doorway looking exasperated.   
  
"I thought I told you to watch her," the assassin snapped.   
  
"Perhaps if you had informed me of the mess you had dragged me into I would have been more inclined." His voice was hard, but not nearly as intimidating.   
  
Samantha could tell that her friend was frightened, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "What do you want from us?" She asked as she found her voice once more.   
  
"Where you are from and how did you come by this sword?"   
  
She could no longer doubt that everything that was happening was real. These men, this world, was not from their time. The thought was unsettling and made her empty stomach churn. No doubt Amy had also realized that something was amiss, perhaps she was also avoiding the outlandish idea.   
  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." It was the best response Sam could think of at the moment, and was probably true. How do you simply tell someone that you came from the future and have no idea how it happened?   
  
"We're from 2015 and we touched that sword at a museum that brought us here and then we got attacked," Amy blurted out. Sam watched as her eyes shifted between the two men, gauging their reactions. "We honestly don't know anything about what happened so please don't kill us," her voice was trembling.   
  
Samantha took the momentary silence that filled the room as an opportunity to rush over to her friend. Amy was clearly at the end of her rope. The whole situation seemed to come into focus as Amy's hand grasped tightly onto hers. Sam was afraid, more than she had ever been in her entire life. The events of the two days came rushing onto her all at once; she could feel her pulse pounding. She longed to run away from this place, from everything, and pretend that all of this hadn't happened.   
  
"We aren't going to kill you," the newer man said comfortingly. "What are your names?"   
  
Sam was sure he was trying to sound less threatening than his friend.   
  
"I'm Samantha, and this is Amy. Look, we didn't even mean to take the sword. It's yours if you want it."   
  
She was expecting some sort of answer, even a reassurance that everything would be fine. Instead, the two men exchanged glances before ordering them to stay put while they stepped into the hall to speak.   
  
Sam took a deep breath in attempt to calm herself before speaking, "So I think we may actually be in the past."   
  
Amy shook her head, "That's not possible."   
  
"Look I know that it isn't possible, but here we are."   
  
"I want to go back." Amy had started shaking again and Sam quickly tried to comfort her.   
  
She was glad that she felt the need to console Amy and look out for her. It made it much easier to push down her own growing panic. "We'll get back," Sam wrapped her arms tightly around her friend, wishing she could promise that.   
  
The door clicked open and the two parted. Samantha grew tense as the two men entered; she was so afraid of what might happen to them.   
  
The one who had saved them glowered from under the shadow of his hood while the other man strode towards them.   
  
"We have no real authority on this, obviously sensitive, matter." The newer man seemed much more open to the idea that they were telling the truth, which made him more of an ally than the other assassin. "Our master in Masyaf will be able to see the truth of this and will decide your fate."   
  
They would live another day, but the idea of their lives being in so many people's hands was still daunting.   
  
"Well then, there is nothing more we can do now. It is nearly lunchtime and I am sure you two are hungry."   
  
The change in pace of the conversation was so unexpected that it nearly made her laugh. It did also lighten the mood in the room exponentially.   
  
Sam glanced over at the other assassin who was still glaring at all of them in obvious disapproval. She had no doubt that there would eventually be trouble between them.


	4. Pleasantries

The hall was quiet as the two assassins led them away from the room. Sam wondered briefly if they were the only ones present in the building. Wherever they were was small, having no more than four or five rooms. Nevertheless, it was obviously still built to accommodate more people than were currently there.   
  
It didn't take them long to reach their destination, a small room where they could eat. It housed a long table which looked like it could sit at least ten people on the benches lining it. On the opposite wall was a fireplace which looked like it was probably used to cook food and heat water. The already sweltering room was almost unbearable with the added heat.   
  
There was already food on the table, perhaps meant for someone else, but they all sat down regardless.   
  
The lunch of bread, cheese, and cooked meat was like a feast for the starving women. Sam was thankful that they had been brought here by the assassin, despite all of the turmoil it had caused. Her stomach was full of food and water and she and Amy were still alive.   
  
"Since we will no doubt be the ones taking you to Masyaf I suppose it is best that you at least have something more to call us than assassin," one of the men spoke after finishing off the food on his plate. "I am Malik, and my surlier companion here is Altaïr."   
  
The introduction was a nice change compared to being ordered around and questioned, one that Samantha greatly appreciated. Any small bit of information gave her a better grasp of her surroundings and helped make her more comfortable.   
  
"Thank you for saving us," Sam looked pointedly towards Altaïr, "and for sheltering us."   
  
It was the least she could do to try to set things off on a better foot than before. Samantha decided that she would try to forget all of the threats in an attempt to lighten the mood.   
  
"It is our duty as assassins to protect the innocent," Malik informed them.   
  
"But usually they do not ask any more of us, or spin wild tales of time travel."   
  
Sam watched as Malik sent Altaïr a sharp look.   
  
Silence overtook the table, no one willing to risk a possibly insulting topic or comment. Samantha had no idea what conversations might consist of during whatever time they were in and she figured that the two men felt similarly.   
  
"Do you have family somewhere? Husbands?" Malik broke the silence.   
  
It wasn't an odd question, and she was sure that during this time they would have been married off years before now. "Family, yes. Husbands, no. I was studying to be an architect and Amy to become a doctor- a healer," she corrected herself, not knowing what they would call it.   
  
"They allow women to do such things?" Altaïr asked disdainfully and met Sam's eyes for half a moment before returning them to his plate.   
  
"You don't believe us?"   
  
"How could I? You speak of women taking up a man's job." The assassin folded his arms over his chest and glared across the table at Sam.   
  
Samantha remained calm, which seemed to be the best option at the moment. "It is not you who I need approval or acknowledgement from."   
  
"Al Mualim will not believe your lies any more than I do." Altaïr rose from his seat and headed for the door while mumbling about how he would waste no more of his day on this nonsense. The only sound left in his wake was the door slamming shut behind him.   
  
"You will have to forgive him," Malik spoke after a moment, "it has been a trying day for us all."   
  
"Fair enough," Sam replied while rubbing her temples, "is he always this bad?"   
  
"Not always. However, I believe you will find our master to be much more gracious; Altaïr has never really been one for pleasantries."   
  
Amy laughed softly at that, a sound that Samantha was glad to hear.   
  
"Is there anything we can do until we leave tomorrow?" Her friend asked after a moment, "I'm a bit too restless to just sit around all day."   
  
Malik looked between the two of them before answering. "We cannot allow you to leave, for obvious reasons, but there are duties to be done around here that I would be glad to have aid with."   
  
The boiling room was becoming more than Sam could handle. The food and drink had helped a bit with her headache but after being interrogated by Altaïr even that could not keep it at bay.   
  
"I'm going to return to our room, I need to rest my head," She gestured at where she imagined the large bruise on her forehead was.   
  
"I trust that you will be able to find it?" The question wasn't asked unkindly and Sam was actually glad for the concern.   
  
"Of course, thank you."

* * *

  
  
"I don't mind helping," Amy offered, "I was serious when I said that I can't stand to just sit around right now."   
  
"Very well then," Malik said and gave her a slight smile, "If you'll follow me there are some books that I must organize."   
  
Amy found herself in yet another room, this one had walls lined with bookshelves. The books that needed to be put away were stacked in large piles on the floor. Malik began to explain where things should go and the two began working.   
  
The room was silent other than the thumping of heavy books and the occasional flutter of pages.   
  
"You are very close to her," Malik observed after they had been working for a while.   
  
"She's like my sister," Amy agreed while putting away another tome. "Has been ever since we became roommates in college." She turned around and after seeing the puzzled look on the man's face apologized softly, "I'm sorry, that last part probably didn't make any sense to you."   
  
"Do not trouble yourself over it." A smile graced his face again, "There must be many differences from the future that I will never begin to understand."   
  
Amy was perplexed, "You believe us?" She was having a hard enough time believing that they were actually in the past. It was difficult to see how he could possibly think that they were telling the truth.   
  
"I have a younger brother," he joked, "I have become a master at telling when people are lying."   
  
A warm hand was placed on her shoulder.   
  
"I do not think you are lying."

 

* * *

  
  
Sam scuffed her shoe against the floor, wanting to be anywhere but here. All of her conversations with Altaïr had left her in a sour mood and a longing for home. She ran a hand through her hair as she walked, trying to comb out all of the tangles.   
  
While rounding a corner Samantha nearly ran into the assassin. "Sorry I-" She was shoved against the wall, Altaïr's forearm against her throat. The movement jarred her and her head gave a sharp twinge. Sam briefly wondered if he had any semblance of self-control.   
  
"What do you want?" He hadn't said anything and she was quickly growing tired of their close proximity.   
  
Golden-like eyes flashed menacingly from underneath the assassin's hood but he still said nothing. Each second grew more uncomfortable and Sam began to feel more than a little like a bug under a magnifying glass.   
  
"This makes no sense," Altaïr remarked, his voice so soft she could barely hear it.   
  
Before she could even begin to wonder what he meant, he was gone. Samantha rubbed her sore neck and shoulders, it didn't really matter what he had meant since now Sam was determined to avoid him.   
  
Altaïr stalked off towards his room.   
  
He was said to have been blessed with his Eagle Vision from a young age. It had never led him astray before, always he would know who was friend or foe based on his natural ability. Now, though, it was completely indecipherable.   
  
When he had tried looking at Samantha with it her aura was a hazy color of blue and gold, marking her both as a target and an ally.   
  
Nothing like this had ever happened before. If she was a target should he kill her now and be done with it? There was no conceivable reason why she should have been marked with blue, though.   
  
Altaïr decided that he would put his faith in Al Mualim's wisdom. Never would he admit this flaw in his abilities.


	5. Onward

Samantha woke feeling much better than she had the day before. Her headache had gone away and only hurt when she touched the bruised portion of her head. Amy seemed equally refreshed and chipper that morning.   
  
The girls talked a bit as they waited to be retrieved by either Altaïr or Malik, preferably the latter.   
  
"I feel gross," Amy complained mildly, "I wish we could change clothes or take a bath."   
  
"Right?" Sam plucked at her tank top while she thought, she supposed that it wasn't so bad considering how hot it was there. "I wonder how long we'll have to travel," she thought aloud, "I imagine we'll have to travel by horse so it's going to be uncomfortable and long."   
  
"Great," Amy groaned and laid back on the bed.   
  
Samantha rolled over on her chest to look at her friend. "Are you afraid of what might happen to us when we get there?"   
  
Amy chewed on her bottom lip and gazed up at the ceiling while she thought. "Yes, but I mean from what Malik said their master doesn't seem entirely unreasonable."   
  
"I guess we can only hope."   
  
A soft knock on the door was heard before it opened to reveal Malik.   
  
"Good morning," he greeted.   
  
Samantha noticed the bundle of clothing in his arms, "New clothes?"   
  
"Yes," he walked forwards and the two sat up on the bed so that a bundle could be deposited into each of their hands, "you two do not exactly blend in."   
  
She couldn't disagree with that. If they went out in their own clothing there was no doubt in her mind that Templars would be on them in no time.   
  
"I will step out of the room whilst you two change. Meet me outside when you are done."   
  
Amy and Sam had a bit of trouble with the clothes, both of them unable to tell which side of the nearly shapeless dress was the front and how exactly they were meant to put it on. After a bit of struggling they decided to take off their clothes, other than their undergarments, and pull the dress over their heads in the direction that seemed best.   
  
The new clothing was unflattering and plain. The tan garment was fairly loose on their bodies and would no doubt draw less attention than anything else.   
  
Malik had also provided them with a covering for their hair which the two women helped each other put on. Not only did it cover their hair, but also acted as a sort of hood which would hopefully keep the sun off of their faces. Samantha was doubly grateful for that.   
  
They folded their old clothes and put them on the bed, unsure of whether or not they should try to take them along. They were the only things they had left from their time, and neither of them wanted to simply leave them.   
  
"Unless we find a way to get back we're never going to be able to wear them again," Sam reasoned.   
  
The clothing was a small comfort, but ended up being left behind.   
  
Altaïr paced in front of the bleary-eyed Rafiq who had awoken early to see them off. He looked down the hallway impatiently, where Malik should have been returning with the two women.   
  
"Stop your pacing, Altaïr, it's exhausting to watch," the Rafiq yawned.   
  
Altaïr crossed his arms over his chest and instead began to tap his foot on the ground.   
  
The poor Rafiq was saved from the incessant drumming when the sound of footsteps was heard and Malik appeared around the corner with the two women in tow.   
  
"We are ready to depart," Malik announced.   
  
Altaïr glanced over at Samantha and Amy, both now clothed more appropriately. He wanted to leave as soon as possible so he could pass this problem onto someone else. "Very well, let us be off."   
  
Malik said goodbye to the Rafiq who replied in kind.   
  
It was early so the streets would not be busy enough to where they could not leave out of the hidden back entrance. He was sure that the women would have complained about crawling up onto the roof to leave anyways.   
  
The mild temperature was a blessing, but he was sure the day would be scorching once the sun rose. Luckily that would not be for a few hours and they would be well on their way by then.   
  
The bureau was not very far from the gates and the empty streets allowed them quick passage out of the city. Malik walked slightly ahead of him while the two women kept almost uncomfortably close behind him. It was too early in the day to start a fight and so Altaïr simply reasoned that they were still frightened. After all, they still claimed to know nothing of this time.   
  
He felt one of them step on the back of his boot and he resisted the urge to snap. Instead he turned his head slightly only to see Samantha smile apologetically at him and mouth that she was sorry. Altaïr calmed himself with a deep breath, eyes focusing instead on the gate that they were fast approaching.   
  
His patience was being tested more than ever, and he once again found himself regretting his decision to shelter them. The stables where he and Malik had left their horses was not far from the gates. He picked up his pace, eager to be on the road. Both of the women fell behind him as he caught up with Malik.   
  
"We do not have enough horses for them," Altaïr observed as they approached the stables.   
  
"Then one will ride with each of us."   
  
Altaïr couldn't even begin to explain how much he didn't want to share his horse with either Samantha or Amy. It was, of course, the only way they would all make it to Masyaf short of buying more horses. The thought of spending coin on that was surprisingly less appealing than sharing his mount.   
  
The two men arrived at the stables far ahead of the women and began to tack up their respective horses in silence, each seemingly caught up in their own thoughts. Altaïr moved across the stable to fetch his worn saddlebag. When he turned around panic instantly overcame him.   
  
"Wait!"   
  
Startled, Samantha yanked her hand away from where she had been rubbing his horse's neck. "What?" she asked crossly, looking between him and the horse.   
  
He could feel his neck growing hot in embarrassment. Fakhir was fairly temperamental and for a moment he had been afraid he might hurt her.   
  
"It is nothing." Altaïr nudged her out of his way so that he could finish getting Fakhir ready for their journey. He kept his gaze from locking with any of the others, they were no doubt staring at him because of his sudden outburst.   
  
He finished only to find that Amy and Malik had already mounted up.   
  
Altaïr somehow knew that this would be the outcome. It was some sort of cruel irony that he would have to ride with the woman that continued to vex him at every turn.   
  
Fakhir followed behind him dutifully as he took his reins and led him out of the stables. He turned to find Samantha standing in the entranceway wringing her hands and looking at him nervously.   
  
"Come, so that we may leave."   
  
Samantha edged closer. "I have never ridden a horse before," she revealed.   
  
Altaïr refrained from giving a frustrated sigh. Of course she hadn't.   
  
He gestured for her to come closer and she reluctantly obliged. She already seemed to fear angering him, and he wasn't sure whether or not that pleased him.   
  
"Here," he grabbed Fakhir's reins in one hand and held out his other hand for her to take.   
  
She was hesitant, but followed his instructions on how to mount the horse properly. He quickly got on behind her and reined up next to Malik.   
  
The only time Samantha had ever ridden a horse in her life was at a friend's birthday party when she was ten. That horse was a pony compared to Altaïr's.   
  
She was completely tense, her legs locked and her hands gripping the horn of the saddle until her knuckles were white. Sam just wished someone would talk, anything to keep her mind off of the large animal beneath her. It was fine simply petting him, but riding him was another story. The fact that Altaïr was behind her did nothing to calm her nerves.   
  
They rode for an hour or so in silence, nothing but the sound of hooves tramping through dirt and sand permeated the air. The day grew hotter as the sun relentlessly beat down on them. Samantha could feel sweat dripping from her temple down her face but would not dare to move her hands to wipe it off. She hadn't realized before now how easy her life had been with cars and air conditioning.   
  
A hand on her shoulder interrupted her musing.   
  
"Relax," Altaïr's voice came from behind her, "your sore legs will thank you for it by the end of the day."   
  
Samantha wanted to relax, she really did, but having Altaïr sitting so close behind her did not allow her that luxury. When they had first started off she could feel his annoyance at her pouring off of him. She just wished that he would ease up on hating her so much.   
  
There was a sudden movement behind her as the assassin's arm snaked around her to grab hold of one of her hands. He tugged it from its death grip on the saddle and left it to rest on her thigh. Her left hand immediately tightened on the horn to make up for the lack of her other hand. Altaïr must have noticed, for he lightly slapped the top of her hand, causing her to jump slightly and let go.   
  
"You must relax." He instructed. "Fakhir can feel that you are uneasy and reacts to that."   
  
Samantha was sure that the horse could get over her uneasiness, but Altaïr seemed relentless in his endeavor to make her relax.   
  
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Her breathing fell in time with the horses hooves beating against the ground and she began to feel a bit better. Sam's shoulders relaxed as did her legs. Already she could tell what Altaïr meant about her legs being sore as she rubbed her aching thighs.   
  
Samantha waited for some snarky remark from Altaïr, but none came.   
  
She turned her attention ahead of them where Malik and Amy rode. They were too far away to talk to, but the endless silence was frustrating. Sam would take any conversation just to keep the thought of what was waiting ahead from her mind.   
  
They rode on and Sam said nothing. Few people passed them on the road, and luckily none were guards. It was becoming unbearably hot beneath her scarf and she thought she might take it off to chance catching a small breeze, even if it meant the sun being directly on her.   
  
She tugged on the fabric, allowing it to slip easily from her head. The horse's pace did allow for a warm breeze to meet her, and for that she was grateful. The wind tugged softly on her locks as she ran a hand through them.   
  
After a moment she could feel Altaïr's gaze boring into her.   
  
"What?" she asked, not bothering to turn her head to face him.   
  
There was a long pause in which she assumed he was considering not answering her at all.   
  
"Your hair color is uncommon here."   
  
The statement was so blunt that for a moment she was taken aback. Sam wondered briefly if this was his attempt at making small talk.   
  
"I'm not a spy for the Templars, if that is what you're wondering." She retorted, guessing at what he was thinking. She supposed it would make sense if one was expecting such a ploy; especially considering a tale as outlandish as hers. It made even more sense when considering that most people with blonde hair in this century were probably European and who Altaïr was most likely fighting against.   
  
"I was not-"   
  
She instantly held her hand up to cut him off, something she should have guessed would make him angry. "Look, I know you don't trust us. There's really no point in pretending otherwise. The least we can do is try to make this trip as pleasant as possible until I'm off your hands."   
  
There was no way he could argue with that, she reasoned. The request wasn't that unreasonable.   
  
"Very well," he grumbled from behind her.   
  
Sam released a soft sigh. Content in the fact that hopefully the rest of the trip would not be terrible.   
  
The rest of the day went by slowly.   
  
Sam got a few more words out of Altaïr about the surrounding lands before he once again fell silent. The only times that they spoke after that was Sam asking about if they had time to stop for food or drink. The most she got out of him was that they would make camp soon.   
  
Her throat was burning, though, and she knew that she should ask for some water. Samantha waited patiently, not wanting to ask the grumpy man behind her for anything elseelse.   
  
The two men slowed their horses as the sun dipped closed to the horizon. They quickly discussed where they would stop to camp for the night,and it was decided that they would rest at a small oasis. When they arrived, though, Sam realized that it could hardly be called an oasis. There were some palm trees and shrubs, but no real sign of water other than that. Perhaps Hollywood had simply over exaggerated when they depicted soft sands, lush greenery, and crystal clear pools of water. The thought had her dry mouth craving even the smallest drop.   
  
Altaïr had already dismounted while she surveyed the area, and now held out his hand for her to take. Samantha's body protested as she swung her leg off of the horse and hopped to the ground. She nearly stumbled as her feet hit the sand, legs ready to give out after the abuse they had taken during their nonstop riding.   
  
Altair helped steady her, but she quickly pulled away from him.  She made her way over to Amy, trying to ignore how nice her hand had felt in his.   
  
"You sore too?" She asked as Sam approached.   
  
"Incredibly," the blonde replied as she massaged her tense shoulders the best she could.   
  
"Only one more day of riding at least."   
  
Samantha didn't want to think about that. She would rather ride for days on end than meet the fate that was waiting for them in Masyaf. Amy seemed unconcerned and plopped herself on the ground, watching Malik as he unpacked the horses.   
  
Sam copied her actions. The sand was hot beneath her, but she had no doubt that the night would prove to be much colder. Her eyes swept across their makeshift camp and saw that Altaïr had already gathered a bit of wood and was well on his way to making a fire. She hoped that would mean they would get some kind of food tonight.   
  
"Here, this is for you."   
  
She looked up to find Malik handing her some sort of bedroll. Amy received her own and the two moved to lay them out near where Altaïr had started the fire.   
  
The horses were fed and watered by Malik and Altaïr before they moved to sit on the opposite side of the fire.   
  
Samantha was uncomfortably warm and felt more than a little sick to her stomach. The fire burning before her did nothing to help. She mumbled something to Amy about feeling dehydrated and her friend instantly handed her a water skin.   
  
"Malik gave it to me earlier today. Have you had nothing to drink?" She inquired and sent Sam a concerned glance.   
  
She wanted to be angry at Altaïr, but honestly it was her fault for never asking.   
  
The water was lukewarm, but made her feel a thousand times better. Before she could even inquire about food Malik was passing around bits of dried meat to each of them. The food helped settle her stomach a little and she continued to drink water in small sips.   
  
The flames of the fire danced before her eyes as the wood crackled and popped. A wave of exhaustion hit her and she closed her eyes, now enjoying the heat that the fire provided against the crisp air.   
  
Sam looked over after a moment to find that Amy had already laid down and was snoring softly, no doubt as exhausted from the day as she was.   
  
Altaïr and Malik began to speak in hushed tones. She couldn't hear a word of what they were saying and so she almost immediately gave up trying.   
  
The firm bedroll was as inviting as a feather bed right then, and she could no longer ignore the urge to succumb to exhaustion. Samantha laid down and turned away from the fire, the voices of the men behind her lulling her to sleep.


	6. Fate

Altaïr woke to someone shaking his shoulders and immediately sprang into action. His strength had the person pinned to the ground and rendered helpless in a matter of seconds. As he looked down to identify his attacker he was met with a pair of angry brown eyes.   
  
"Could you please let go of me?" Oddly enough Sam seemed unsurprised that his first reaction was to attack her.   
  
He was not pleased at his rude awakening, but released his grip on her hands and moved so that she could sit up.   
  
Samantha stood quickly and brushed off the dirt from her dress looking extremely displeased. Altaïr looked around to find that Amy and Malik were already up and preparing the horses for their departure.   
  
"That is that last time I let Malik convince me to wake you up." He heard Sam murmur as she shot him a dirty look and returned to rolling up her bedroll.   
  
Altaïr wanted to collapse back onto the ground. Already the day had gotten off to a bad start and he was sure there would be more trouble to come. He took solace in the fact that they would be in Masyaf by this evening.   
  
The camp was packed up in practically no time at all, as they had very little supplies with them. The sun had barely risen and already everyone was mounted on their horses and ready to leave.   
  
Altaïr watched as Samantha took one last look back at their camp before facing forward again. He wondered what she was thinking at that moment, as she took in the ashes where their fire had been and the barely visible indents in the sand where they had rested that night.   
  
He could not help but notice that she was much more comfortable riding now. Her body was much more relaxed and accustomed to Fakhir's movements, even after one day. The early morning rays shot across the purple and orange sky, illuminating the land before them. Altaïr felt Samantha relax against his chest, for which he was both glad and annoyed. He was happy that she was no longer as rigid as a wooden board, but her close proximity was unwelcome and more than a little distracting. The assassin made no move to reprimand her, though, and was content to let them ride on in silence.   
  
Samantha had asked that they remain tolerant of each other until they reached the fortress and, except for the incident that morning, he thought he was doing quite well so far. As loathe as he was to admit it her company was not as intolerable as he had originally thought. She did not talk very much as they rode and asked for nothing. He found that now it was almost as if he was riding alone, the only reminder of her presence was the constant warmth radiating off her as her body pressed against his.   
  
It had been a long while since he had lain with a woman, and the soft curve of her body served as a constant reminder. He found his hand ghosting over the swell of her hips and he longed to close the rest of the space between them.   
  
He quickly came to his senses and snatched his hand away. She could still prove to be a spy, and even if she was not he would probably never see her again after tomorrow. Altaïr was no novice and had had his fair share of trysts before, but this was one he should have never even thought of. He had been trained better than this, and his primal urges could not take over his rational sense.   
  
The day went by in near silence, both he and Samantha caught up in their own thoughts. He was grateful for the peace and quiet. The past few days had been far too eventful, even with the life he led. It was evening when Malik and Amy began to keep pace with them, and in all honesty he had nearly forgotten about his friend.   
  
"We should be arriving soon," Malik announced to them.   
  
Altaïr felt Samantha sit up a bit straighter, and he wondered if she was really that worried about Al Mualim's decision. It made sense considering that she and her friend may very well be killed by morn. Their fate rested in someone's hands that they had never even met before, a situation he imagined would be very frightening. He had noticed that Malik and Amy had been chatting quite amicably as they rode up but the woman had since fallen silent: further proof of his speculations.   
  
It was dusk by the time they reached the city of Masyaf, and they still had to trek up the side of the mountain to reach the fortress. The two men left their horses with the stable hands just outside the city and directed Sam and Amy through the gates.   
  
Samantha's legs were the sorest they had ever been in her life, and she was sure Amy felt similarly. She could see the outline of the citadel on the grey skyline and knew that the walk there would be awful. There was a small town before them, and Sam prayed that they could stop there for the night.   
  
Luck had not been with her for the past few days, she decided, as she watched Altaïr take the lead and head towards a path that winded up the steep hill.   
  
An assassin in similar garb greeted Malik and Altaïr by name as they approached the foot of the path. He stood by a flag with an unfamiliar symbol decorating it. Sam stopped in front of Altaïr as he spoke briefly with the other man. Her eyes travelled up to the fortress high atop the hill. It was dim in the evening light, but she was sure that the architecture would be magnificent during the day. At night, though, candles shone through windows making it appear as if a thousand fireflies had made their home in its tall towers.   
  
"Move," Altaïr's voice came from behind her as he nudged her forward.   
  
Samantha was too tired to argue and trudged along on weary legs.   
  
The steep winding path would have been hard enough to climb during the day, but at night there was no way to tell where they were putting their feet down. The trail was unlit and there were patches of gravel that caused Samantha to trip more than a few times. By the time they had reached the top she was silently cursing every additional step she had to take.   
  
The stone entranceway of the fortress led into a large bailey, devoid of anyone except a few guards at this hour. A small flight of stairs on the opposite side led up to a set of large wooden doors. Altaïr pushed one of them open and the well-oiled hinges made no protest or noise at the movement. The inside of the fortress was well lit with torches and a wrought iron chandelier, casting its warm light on the weary travelers. A staircase on the other side of the room led up to a second floor where she could have sworn she caught a hint of movement.   
  
Samantha's boots clomped against the stone floor as they strode in and the sound echoed throughout the large room. With the look Altaïr was giving her she half wished that she had worn flats or something when they had gone to the museum.   
  
"Altaïr!" A voice rang out from above them and all gazes rose to see an older man looking down on them from the second floor.   
  
"Master!" The assassin called up to him. "Were you expecting us?"   
  
The man began his descent down the staircase, his black robes swishing around his feet as he did. His eyes bore into the two women as he reached the bottom, making them feel more than a little uncomfortable.   
  
"I was," the man announced as he approached them, "I received a letter from the Rafiq in Damascus informing me of the company that you were bringing here."   
  
"What would you have us do with them?" Altaïr inquired, eager to be rid of them.   
  
"Patience," the man warned, his eyes flashing over to Altaïr. "You have had a long journey, is there anything that I can provide for you?"   
  
Samantha was appalled at how well they were being treated by this man compared to how Altaïr had first treated them. Right now all she really wanted was to go to bed, but Amy had one thing on her mind.   
  
"A bath, if that's okay."   
  
Sam could have kissed her, a bath sounded wonderful right now.   
  
"Very well. Malik, would you please rouse Ariana and have her provide them with a bath? Altaïr, we have much to discuss, if you would follow me."   
  
Malik nodded and led them up the first flight of steps. They exited through an archway on the first landing while Altaïr continued with his master up the stairs.   
  
A garden appeared before them from out of the dimness of the night and Samantha could have sworn that she heard the sound of running water.   
  
"Where are we, Malik?" Amy inquired.   
  
"A place of leisure. Some assassins choose to marry and they live in the rooms surrounding the gardens with their families. The women here are protected, treated well, and given roles to fulfill around the fortress," he explained.   
  
Malik led them to a room on the right side of the garden and rapped on the door with his knuckles. An older woman opened the door, the dark circles beneath her eyes revealing her exhaustion. Samantha could not help but think that bathing could wait for the morning.   
  
"I am sorry for the late hour of our visit, Ariana, but Al Mualim has asked that they bathe and receive clean clothes so that he can meet with him." He gestured towards Sam and Amy as he spoke.   
  
Ariana waved her hand dismissively, "It is fine, and they look as if they have travelled far. Please, come in."   
  
She stepped aside to allow Samantha and Amy into the small entrance way.   
  
"Return to Al Mualim's study when you have finished," Malik ordered before thanking Ariana and disappearing into the night.   
  
"My daughters will certainly enjoy your company," she informed them as she ushered them down the hall.   
  
They were led into a much more spacious room where they came upon three girls who sat eating their dinner in content silence.   
  
"Girls, this is- Oh dear, I've forgotten to ask your names."   
  
Sam was already beginning to like the older woman. She seemed very kind hearted and was definitely very motherly.   
  
They both introduced themselves to the girls, all of whom greeted them kindly. Ariana then introduced each of the girls individually. Alisha was a small girl no older than six, Maha was the middle child, and Rana was the oldest child at perhaps sixteen years old.   
  
"They will be meeting with Al Mualim so we must get them cleaned up," Ariana explained. "I will go fetch some water to heat if you three will prepare the bath."   
  
Sam again felt terrible about interrupting their lives, but all of the girls seemed happy enough to help them out. Alisha ran out of the room practically exuding energy as she went to gather up her hair combs to share with them.   
  
"You can follow me this way to unclothe yourselves," Rana instructed as she led them through a doorway, the entrance hidden by drapes of fabrics.   
  
The room was littered with carpets of many different styles and in the corner of the room stood the bathtub. It looked suspiciously like a very large wine barrel that was in all likeliness reused to make a bathtub.   
  
"Are you marrying one of the assassin's here?" Inquired the oldest sister.   
  
Samantha and Amy exchanged looks and shook their heads, indicating the negative   
  
"That's too bad," Rana commented and busied herself with pulling towels off of a shelf, "I cannot wait until one of them asks to marry me."   
  
Sam could tell that she had given this serious thought, and though getting married had never even occurred to her when she had been that young she supposed it wasn't surprising considering the time they were in. Plus it seemed like a good life within the fortress walls, much nicer than the city where she and Amy had ended up.   
  
Ariana walked into the room before they could continue their conversation, Alisha on her heels. The older woman carried a large tub of steaming water and proceeded to pour it into the barrel.   
  
"Well what are you waiting for?" Ariana asked as she headed to get more water. "One of you get in before the water cools!"   
  
"No time for modesty I suppose," Sam told Amy as she stripped off her clothes and entered the tub.   
  
The water level was barely at her knees but there was enough room in the barrel to where she could curl up into a sitting position to immerse herself. She cupped some of the water to pour onto her hair and sighed as it ran down her spine. It was the nicest Sam had felt since they had arrived in this time.   
  
Maha silently handed her a bar of plain looking soap and she proceeded to lather it into her hair and then washed her body. She could not believe how much dirt had accumulated on her during their travels and how clean she now felt. Samantha quickly washed her face, careful not to irritate the bruise on her forehead that was slowly healing.   
  
After she was sure that there was no part of her body that was unwashed Sam stepped out of the water and into the towel that Rana had waiting for her.   
  
Ariana had returned with fresh water and Amy stood, unclothed and waiting to get clean.   
  
Alisha quickly grabbed Samantha's hand and tugged her over to a small stool on the other side of the room. "Here!" The little girl waved a small comb before her, "This is my favorite!"   
  
Samantha smiled at the young girl and began untangling the many knots in her hair with the comb, grateful for how at home this small action made her feel.   
  
Amy quickly replaced Sam on the stool as a clean dress was handed to her. The new clothing was a pleasant tan color and went down past her ankles. It was much nicer than what Malik had provided them with and fit her body better as well. She replaced her boots on her feet, wanting to keep at least something to remind her of home.   
  
Sam waited patiently for her friend to get dressed, feeling much cleaner and happier.   
  
"Thank you so much for your help," the two women told the family for about the hundredth time as they made their way to the door.   
  
"Think nothing of it," Ariana told them as she opened the front door for them. "Now be on your way, it is best not to keep Al Mualim waiting!"   
  
The two girls bid everyone good night as they retreated towards the entrance of the gardens.   
  
"Well now I'm relaxed and super exhausted," Sam told her friend.   
  
"I have a feeling that by the time we’re done talking with this old man we'll be even more tired," Amy complained and rubbed her temples.   
  
"I imagine so," she agreed and turned her head up to see the moon emerge from behind a wisp of clouds. "I want to ask you something," Samantha stopped walking as they neared the archway from which they had first entered the garden.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"What do you think we're going to do here, if everything goes well?"   
  
"I don't want to think about it." Amy looked away from her prying eyes. "I just keep hoping this is some terrible nightmare. I don't even want to consider being stuck here."   
  
Samantha could feel anxiety knotting up her stomach and put her hand on her friend's shoulder. She felt as if Amy was her only lifeline here in this place, but knew that she was going to have to be strong and the voice of reason for her.   
  
"Amy, I hate to say this, but we have to consider what will happen if we are stuck here."   
  
Her friend looked up at her for half a second, startled that she would put it so bluntly, before looking away again. "Hard to consider it when we might be dead soon."   
  
Sam was taken aback. She was still trying to ignore that possibility within her own mind, but now Amy had sent it back to the forefront. It was too much, and she could no longer keep up her brave façade. Her eyes began to well up with tears.   
  
"Please, don't say that," she whispered and this time Amy met her gaze and held it. "I can't-"Samantha's voice broke.   
  
"I know," Amy said hurriedly, "I'm sorry, I know that you somehow think this is your fault but it isn't."   
  
Sam hadn't thought about it, but she knew deep down that that was what she believed. She had taken them to the museum and she had been the one to knock the fucking sword off of the rack. Everything that had happened to them was her fault.   
  
"We'll ask to marry them," her friend said suddenly. "Not Malik or Altaïr in particular, but one of the other assassins. You heard Malik, he said that it would give us protection and a home."   
  
Samantha couldn't technically find a flaw in her plan, if it was not immediately rejected by the master assassin. This aside, she didn't want to  _ have  _ to marry a man she didn't even know. She didn't want to be stuck in this fortress and forced to have his children and be the docile wife.   
  
She swallowed thickly, "As a last resort only."   
  
Amy nodded in agreement before looking at the open archway that had been all but forgotten throughout their conversation. "Shall we go meet our fate?"   
  
"Together," Sam took her friend's hand in her own, "we'll meet it together."   
  
It took nearly no time at all to make it to the top of the stairs. The two women found themselves in a library of some sort. No one was around and they could have probably waited there for a moment longer, but they had already taken too much time as it was. Any more procrastination would have been useless, and so they walked past rows and rows of bookshelves before finding themselves in a study.   
  
Malik and Altaïr stood before a large desk, where the so-called "Al Mualim" sat.   
  
"Ah!" The old man exclaimed as he noticed their presence, "You look very refreshed. I trust the bath was to your liking?"   
  
"Yes it was very nice, thank you." Amy replied charmingly, hiding the fact that they were both melting down on the inside.   
  
Samantha remained silent. There were no empty words that she could have said to make this encounter any more pleasant. She would speak when she had to and that would be it.   
  
"Good, good." He mused, stroking his beard absentmindedly. "Altaïr has told me much about you whilst you were gone. You claim to have been brought here from the future by this," he gestured to the sword from the museum that was lying on the desk before him.   
  
Samantha nodded the affirmative and Al Mualim continued speaking.   
  
"This is the sword of Tancred, a Frenchman who was a leader in the first crusades. It had been rumored that the sword held certain supernatural powers, so our order has been searching for it for years." The old man paced back and forth, looking from the sword and then back to the two women. "We had no idea that it would be this powerful."   
  
"What will happen to us then?" Sam finally asked, not wanted to delay the inevitable.   
  
"The powers that made this sword great in battle have not yet been revealed. I think that it is best that you two remain here, protected from our enemies until we figure out how this sword works."   
  
Samantha was relieved, they wouldn't be killed and marriage wasn't even mentioned. A thought struck her though. She knew she was crazy even thinking it, but something was pulling her mind in a certain direction.   
  
"I have a request."   
  
Al Mualim bid her speak with a small gesture.   
  
"I wish to become an assassin."   
  
Silence filled the room, and she knew without looking that an open-mouthed look of incredulity was upon Amy's face. She couldn't even explain why she had asked, it just felt right.   
  
"If you would have me," Samantha added quietly after no one replied.   
  
"Strictly speaking, women are not among the ranks of assassins," Al Mualim said after a moment, clearly taking a moment to collect himself at her unexpected request.   
  
Sam should have known this would be the outcome. There was no doubt in her mind that as a women she could never achieve what she wanted during this time period, and the smug look on Altaïr's face confirmed it.   
  
"You are too old to begin training as novices usually do, but I suppose if your heart is set on it then I will not stop you."   
  
Samantha could not believe what she was hearing. She had thought the old man was leading up to rejecting her! This was all too hard to fathom at the moment and so she stood in a shocked silence in front of the master assassin.   
  
"Master!" Altaïr's voice rose from behind her. "Even if you were serious, who here would agree to train her?"   
  
"You will, Altaïr."   
  
Everything seemed to be a whirlwind around her. Things were coming together so very quickly that she felt slightly nauseous. Samantha looked from Al Mualim to Altaïr, trying desperately to keep up with the conversation and ignore the sweat gathering on her palms.   
  
"No, this is ridiculous, you can't expect me to-"   
  
"I will hear no more arguments," Al Mualim snapped. "You will begin training Samantha a day after tomorrow."   
  
"I would like to help too," Amy piped up from beside her before Altaïr could say anything else. "I was trained as a, um, healer in our time and I think I could help."   
  
"A wonderful idea," the old man clapped his hands together, back to his cheery demeanor. "You will make a wonderful addition and will help Anass when you are able. Well then, it appears as if our business here is concluded," Al Mualim announced, "and you are no doubt very tired."   
  
The two women nodded gratefully and Malik was asked to show them to their room.   
  
"Why?" Altaïr asked bluntly, entirely fed up with this whole situation. He was supposed to have been done with these two women after this conversation, and now suddenly he was being ordered to train one of them.   
  
"We must keep an eye on them, and what better way than to have Samantha under your tutelage?"   
  
"She could simply stay here and be watched," he offered.   
  
"They are from the future, Altaïr, there is no use denying the truth. I have taken this into consideration and believe that a new view is in order."   
  
"Very well," he agreed, but was still not happy about the fact that he would be teaching a woman how to become an assassin. If he was lucky she would quit her training on the first day, and then he could continue life as usual.   
  
Al Mualim placed a hand on his shoulder, as a father would a son. "I believe in you, Altaïr. I always have."   
  
"Then why would you have me train this woman that we know nothing about?"   
  
"I see something in her, something that I cannot explain. I believe that you two will help each other reach your goals in the end." He released his shoulder and bid him a good night.   
  
Altaïr replied in kind and stalked off to his quarters. He thought back to when he had looked upon the woman with his Eagle Vision and wondered whether or not this ordeal would shed light on if she was a friend or foe.   



	7. A new life

A loud banging on their door awoke the two women early the next morning. Sam blindly threw a pillow full force at the door and accidentally hit a half-awake Amy, who was walking to open it.   
  
"Samantha I will kill you!" Amy cried angrily at her friend.   
  
"Can't it wait till' later? I'm trying to sleep." Samantha mumbled. It had taken her forever to fall asleep last night, and by her reckoning it was far too early to be awake.   
  
Amy kindly returned the pillow to her friend by whacking it onto her head.   
  
"Hey!" Sam shot up from where she had been lying and threw the pillow wildly at Amy. Her friend easily dodged it while rolling her eyes at the blonde's antics. "Rude!"   
  
Amy rubbed her temples and went to answer the door. Malik's head peeked in, "Rough morning?" He asked as he observed her bed head.   
  
"Like you wouldn't believe," she mumbled.   
  
"With that witch in there I definitely believe you," Altaïr stepped into the door frame as Malik entered and smirked.   
  
Sam simply rolled her eyes. She had dealt with enough men like him in the past to know that reacting to his words would only encourage him. "What do you guys want?" She asked instead.   
  
"We were told to bring you to the seamstress to have clothes made for you," Malik replied, watching carefully as Samantha and Altaïr glared at each other.   
  
"Good," Amy said, still trying to break the tense feeling in the room. "We should get going then."   
  
The two men led them out of the room and into the main hallway that they had been in the night before. Sam had to shield her eyes with her hand, for the light that streamed in through the windows was blinding.

 

"It's even more amazing in the daylight" She commented lightly, breaking the silence that had fallen over everyone. The structure was beautiful, and even the stone floors had, what she assumed, was the symbol of their order embedded into them.  
  
"Wait until you see the outside of it," Malik said as he led them back to the gardens they had gone to last night.   
  
"I'd like to," Sam said as she looked curiously at a group of women who were chatting idly in the small courtyard.   
  
The two women were led back to the house that they had gone to for a bath.   
  
"Ariana is the seamstress?" Amy asked.   
  
"One of them, yes," Malik said as he knocked on the door.   
  
"Good morning girls," The woman said brightly as she opened the door, looking much more refreshed than when they met her last night. "I was not expecting to see you so soon! And under such," she took a moment to choose her words carefully, "odd circumstances."   
  
It was quiet, as neither Sam nor Amy knew what to say. They were still strangers in this time and certainly still felt it.   
  
"Well come in!" She said as she moved to allow them to enter.   
  
"We will leave them in your care then," Malik said, "and we shall return in several hours to check up on how things are going."   
  
"Very well, I'm sure you two are awfully busy."   
  
"Very," Altaïr grumbled. Samantha was sure he felt that following them around was a stab at his pride.   
  
"Goodbye then," Malik said smiling and stepping in front of his ill-tempered friend to block him from view.   
  
"Farewell," Ariana replied briskly and snapped the door shut.   
  
"Well I have never expected to be making clothing for a female assassin," she smiled brightly. This surprised Sam slightly, she was sure that she would only be met with contempt from everyone because she was being allowed this opportunity.   
  
"The past few days have been full of surprises," Sam agreed, she was unable to keep a hint of sadness from creeping its way into her tone.   
  
Ariana seemed to sense that this was a sensitive issue and quickly changed topics. "But enough about that! I have a few things to show you!" The woman bustled over to where her daughters were helping sew pieces of thick, white fabric together. The smallest, Alisha, was sitting nearby and playing with two dolls.   
  
"My girls have already gotten a head start. Samantha, I hope you don't mind but I've been told you will be training with the men so I took the liberty of making your clothes identical to theirs."   
  
"That sounds perfect," she smiled slightly at how kind this woman was being despite hardly knowing them. Having her outfit look identical was a wonderful idea, and she hoped that it would even garner her some respect among the men. Sam had the feeling that she would need it.   
  
"Now for you," Ariana said looking pointedly at Amy, "I believe we will have more to choose from."   
  
"Oh, please, something simple. If I'm helping with wounds and such then there will probably be a lot of blood and I'd hate to ruin a nice dress."   
  
Samantha smiled at her practicality. It was good that she would have something to do while Sam was off doing God knows what with Altaïr . Her smile lost its happiness in the time it took for her thoughts to shift to the assassin.   
  
The woman nodded. "Of course, well this shouldn't take long since we had a few pieces done already. You would be surprised by how often everyone around here needs new clothes made! Now, if one of you would stand up here for measurements," Ariana said and gestured to a wooden stool.   
  
"I'll go first," Samantha stepped up onto the stool. She still couldn't help but feel apprehensive about trying to be an assassin, and was still completely frustrated that she was unable to figure out why she even wanted to be one.   
  
"By all means," Amy took a step back, "after all I would hate to ruin how much fun you're having."   
  
Sam huffed, realizing that she had given herself away by the frown that had made its way onto her face. "You're mocking me!"   
  
Ariana slipped the white robe that the girls had been working on over Sam's head and stopped any further comments that she could have made.   
  
"Moi?" Amy gasped incredulously as Sam's head emerged from the top of the tunic, "I would never!" She held her hand over her heart, feigning to be hurt.   
  
Sam blew an irritated sigh as Ariana began pinning the material where it needed to be tightened. She knew Amy was just teasing her to try to cheer her up, but honestly she just wanted to wallow in the fact that she was hopelessly out of her depth.

  
"You two fight like an old married couple!" The woman chuckled lightly.   
  
"Oh if you think we're bad you should see her and Altaïr, constantly at each other's throats! And they've only known each other for four days!" Amy laughed.   
  
Sam's frown deepened at her comment and she yelped as Ariana pulled the robe off of her and pricked her with a pin.   
  
Amy snickered, "You're gonna have to toughen up, Sam!"   
  
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and hopped off of the stool, "It's your turn."   
  
Amy smiled, "I'm only messing with you."   
  
"I know, I know. I guess I've just been a bit on edge these past couple of days."   
  
Her friend seemed to realize that she wasn't going to cheer up any time soon. "Sorry, I'm just still trying not to think about it."   
  
Sam nodded an acceptance to her unneeded apology as Amy pulled on the dress that was handed to her.   
  
The two girls chatted idly with each other and the younger girls about happier subjects for the next couple of hours as they made their clothes. The conversation served to take her mind off of heavier subjects and Samantha was glad that Ariana chose not to ask any questions about the conversation she and Amy had had.   
  
"Done!" Rana cried happily and hopped off of the chair she had been on.   
  
"Me too," Maha said softly a moment later and handed the outfit she had helped make to Amy.   
  
Sam dressed slowly. She wanted to remember this moment, knowing full well that it was more monumental that it seemed. From this day on she would be giving her life to a cause that she had only just discovered. She knew that her decision had been too rash, but something in her heart was still tugging her along.   
  
"Looks good," Amy commented before twirling around and looking at her own outfit in the polished silver mirror in the room.   
  
"I love it!" She put on a smile for Ariana's sake. Samantha did love it, she loved the way the fabric felt and how the leather straps and belt smelled.   
  
"We'll find some way to repay you," Amy promised.   
  
"Just show those men that a woman can be just as successful as them and I will be happy," Ariana smiled gently.   
  
Samantha's eyebrows rose. She was surprised and at the same time happy to hear the encouragement.   
  
A knock came from the door.   
  
"Malik and Altaïr must be back!" The older woman exclaimed. "Quickly girls, give them some combs for their hair so that they look presentable," She said and hurriedly made her way towards the door.   
  
The door swung open for the two assassins.   
  
"Hello! We have just finished, please come in!" Ariana stepped aside to allow for the men to step in.   
  
"Did it go well?" Malik asked hopefully.   
  
"I trust that Samantha was not a nuisance." Altaïr grumbled, he didn't want to be responsible for anything that his new novice may have done.   
  
"Both of these women are very kind and a pleasure to be around," Ariana retorted.   
  
"Very good to hear," Malik quickly stated and tried to hurry along their visit here to keep Altaïr's annoyance down to a minimum.   
  
"Well they are just through here." Ariana led them into a side room and side stepped to allow them a visual of both Sam and Amy.   
  
"You both look wonderful," Malik smiled at Amy, "and you, Samantha, look ready for your training."   
  
"Perhaps if she were a man," Altaïr scoffed.   
  
Sam frowned, already fed up with his misogynistic bullshit. "I’m just as good as any man!"   
  
"Yes, yes." Malik began guiding Amy out of the room to avoid the scene that was sure to arise with Altaïr and Sam in the same room together. "We are all sure of that. However, we will be taking our leave now. Thank you for your help, Ariana."   
  
The older woman blinked perplexedly at Malik's unusually rushed manner, "You're quite welcome. I will send some extra uniforms to you once they are made. These assassins always find a way to ruin the ones that they already have."   
They thanked Ariana profusely as they exited the home.   
  
"Where to now?" Amy asked Malik.   
  
Sam pulled her hood over her head. The bright sun beaming down on her face was a little more than she could handle after being inside the dimly lit house for so long.   
  
"We still have time for a late lunch, are either of you hungry?"   
  
Amy replied that she was starving and Malik led them through a side passageway that led from the gardens to the entranceway of the assassins' dining hall. "Here is where you will take all of your meals," he announced with a flourish of his arm.   
  
Sam looked up at the huge wooden doors in astonishment. Everything in the fortress was intricately designed, from the assassin symbol that was carefully carved into almost every surface to the metal loops that framed the door until they reached the brass handles in the center. She wondered briefly how long it had taken to create all of this with the limited technological resources of the past.   
  
The woman's thoughts were soon interrupted by Malik easily swinging one of the large wooden doors open to reveal the mess hall. Assassins were seated at multiple rectangular wooden tables that were scattered around the room. A buzz of conversation hovered in the air, creating a more laid back feeling.   
  
"Malik!"   
  
All of their heads turned to see a seated assassin waving at them from an otherwise vacant table.   
  
"Brother, sit over here!" the man called and waved them over.   
  
Malik heaved a heavy sigh and made for the table. Amy looked up at him curiously but he seemed to take no notice.   
  
"Brother?" Sam asked and raised an eyebrow at Altaïr.   
  
"Malik's younger brother, Kadar," he explained.   
  
As they approached, Samantha found that he appeared to be in his early twenties. Sam noticed that, like her, he lacked a red sash around his waist. All of the older assassins, however, seemed to possess them. She made a mental note to ask about this later on.   
  
"Hello, Kadar," Malik greeted him.   
  
"Hello brother," he smiled, "I trust your missions were carried out splendidly. I would love to hear the details if you are not otherwise occupied."   
  
The two assassins sat down in front of the youth. Amy glanced over at Sam and shrugged before they moved to sit down as well.   
  
"Mine was not interesting, just killing a slaver." Malik waved his hand dismissively.   
  
"I did not have a mission" Altaïr added.   
  
Kadar frowned, "That is unfortunate. I always like to hear of your travels, considering your reputation and skills."   
  
Altaïr shrugged, "It is no matter. There will always be other missions to be completed."   
  
"I suppose." The younger assassin huffed.   
  
Sam realized that the younger man idolized Altaïr. She had seen the assassin kill, and it was impressive, but based on what bit of his personally she had witnessed it seemed to her that his regard for him was misplaced.   
  
"Oh, forgive me," Kadar seemed to just realize that she and Amy were there. "I must have gotten carried away, are you friends of my brother?"   
  
"Amy will be learning some healing from Anass and I," Malik explained.   
  
Kadar greeted her kindly before turning his attention to Samantha.   
  
"Sam is a newly recruited assassin who will be trained under Altaïr beginning tomorrow," Malik finished.   
  
"Sam," Kadar mused, "an unusual name for a man, but you are very lucky to be trained under Altaïr ."   
  
Altaïr's head whipped around towards her. Samantha only now realized how lucky she had been to have pulled her hood up while outside. No doubt doing so had drawn less attention to her, and apparently these men were so stuck in their ways that they didn't even expect that she could be a woman underneath all of the layers of her clothes. She supposed that what bit of her soft facial features could be seen now that her hood was up could have been reminiscent of a younger boy.   
  
"Are you alright?" Kadar asked worriedly. "Did I say something?"   
  
"He's fine," Malik spoke up before Samantha could.   
  
She looked over to him, wondering if he wished for her to continue this charade.   
  
"We are all hungry, you will not mind if Sam and I go to retrieve some food?"   
  
"By all means, brother," Kadar gestured at him with an open palm.   
  
"Come, Sam." Malik tapped her shoulder and gestured for her to follow him.   
  
"What's up Malik?" She asked after they were out of earshot.   
  
"Do you wish to act as a man?"   
  
She was taken aback for a moment. "Should I?"   
  
He handed her a wooden bowl full of some kind of soup that an elderly woman had given him once they reached the kitchen. "It may be the wisest course of action. These men are not accustomed to seeing women as equals."   
  
"And you are?"   
  
"I keep an open mind."   
  
"I suppose I see your point," she admitted while accepting a second bowl from Malik, "but I don't know how to be a man. You speak differently, you walk differently. I don't know how I would do it."   
  
"You already seemed to do well enough with my brother. The key will be speaking as little as possible."   
  
"I think I can manage that."   
  
"Good, we can work on everything else later."   
  
"Like later today or later later?" She asked, already worried about being found out before she had even truly started training.   
  
They began to head back to the table, dodging through other assassins as they went. Malik never replied and Samantha didn't press him for an answer.   
  
"Where's Kadar?" Sam asked as they approached the table, Malik's little brother was nowhere to be seen.   
  
"Just said he had some training to do." Amy shrugged.   
  
Sam and Malik sat down and gave their respective friends a bowl of soup.   
  
"So Kadar told me that it's actually pretty common for women to become physicians," Amy began as she prodded her soup with a wooden spoon.   
  
"I believe he was referring to the most basic of medicines," Malik said through a mouthful of soup, "but as for you, Anass and I will teach you the highest caliber of medicine that we possess."   
  
"Sounds like a lot of work," Sam grumbled as she dug into her soup. She had never been really interested in anything of that nature.   
  
"Do you think that your training will be any easier?" Altaïr chuckled, "Remember who it is that will be training you."   
  
Sam frowned at his misinterpretation of her statement. "Oh, I remember all too well."   
  
"Speaking of training," Malik began as he downed the rest of his soup, "I believe that you should train Samantha how to act as a man."   
  
Altaïr looked at him quizzically, "That is not my responsibility. If she is found out then it is her own fault."   
  
Sam had expected no other answer. She wondered how Malik would spin this to convince him otherwise.   
  
"Yes, but what will the others say when they have found out that you have been degraded to training a woman?"   
  
Of course, she realized, of course he would use Altaïr 's sexist views as motivation.   
  
Altaïr's hand clenched slightly tighter around his spoon, "I do not know how to train her!"   
  
"It will be easy and I shall help you. This should take no longer than the rest of this evening." Malik explained.   
  
Sam didn't mind the sudden decision to train today, especially since it would save her ass when dealing with the other assassins.   
  
Altaïr sighed in defeat. "If I must. We will begin as soon as you are done eating; hopefully it will not take long."   
  
"I'm done," Sam pushed her empty bowl away.   
  
Amy was left to scarf down the rest of her food, internally wishing that everything could slow down for once.   
  
"Very well then, shall we leave?" Altaïr asked after Amy had finished.   
  
Sam got up and began collecting her bowl to bring back to the kitchen, but the assassin slapped the top of her hand lightly. This surprised her enough that the bowl fell to the table in a small clatter as she dropped it.   
  
"The women will take care of that," Altaïr informed her.   
  
She frowned but made no move to retrieve her bowl.   
  
"So where shall we train her, Altaïr?" Malik asked as the two led them from the mess hall to the training courtyard.   
  
"Certainly not here," Altaïr grumbled as they walked past the ring of sweaty men that surrounded two others that were sparring.   
  
"Perhaps a secluded place in the city then," Malik offered.   
  
"If you know of one."   
  
Malik led the party to a dilapidated house near the outskirts of Masyaf. It was surrounded by tall weeds and half of the roof had collapsed in on itself. The other half looked as if it had been burnt and the flames extinguished before it all had turned to ash.   
  
"Well this certainly is secluded," Amy commented as she peered around the outside of the house.   
  
"No one will bother us here," Malik agreed.   
  
"Are you ready for some early training then?" Altaïr asked with a smirk. His ultimate goal was to make her give up before she even started.   
  
Sam simply rolled her eyes. However, the idea of succeeding where Altaïr wished her to fail set a fire within her, burning away any remaining self-doubt about her decision.   
  
"You will most likely not have to speak much to the other assassins, and if you do, simply reply with a shake of your head," Malik began. "I believe we will have to work on how you walk. Show us how you would normally."   
  
Sam rose an eyebrow but began walking over to the corner of the house and then back to in front of Malik and Altaïr.   
  
"Good, you walk with your head up, confident and proud. It is a good start."   
  
Sam allowed a small smile to grace her face at the praise.   
  
"Try lengthening your stride now, it will hopefully decrease the swing of your hips," Altaïr ordered.   
  
Samantha did as she was told. She understood that her hips could be a possible dead giveaway that she was a woman, that and her breasts. It should have been no wonder that Altaïr had noticed, but the thought of him watching from behind as she walked made heat rise up her neck.   
  
After several more hours of being taught exactly how a man acted during this time period the sun began to dip low on the horizon.   
  
"I believe we are done for now," Malik said as he grabbed Amy's hand and helped her off of the tree stump she had been seated on for a while.   
  
"The real training begins tomorrow," Altaïr reminded.   
  
Sam didn't move from her the spot on the ground, and didn't even bother to fix the assassin with a glare.   
  
"Whatever, I just want sleep." Sam's gaze moved from the ground up to the fortress. Her eyes were itchy and exhaustion was beginning to set in.   
  
The large stone towers seemed to spring out from the skyline, one that was beginning to fade into a light red and purple color. Sam sighed dreamily at the sight.   
  
Even though the sight was breathtaking she wondered sadly if this would really be their new home. Already she was starting to miss the normalcy of having her apartment and college classes. Samantha now felt that she had taken everything for granted.   
  
"Are you ready to go?"   
  
Sam looked up to see Altaïr reaching out his hand for her; past him she could see Amy and Malik up the hill to the fortress.   
  
"I guess so," Sam smiled slightly and gripped the assassin's callused hand; she was surprised that he had even waited for her. Altaïr hauled her to her feet. "I suppose chivalry isn't dead," she teased. As much as she disliked Altaïr there was no point in not being herself around him.   
  
The assassin's visage remained hidden under his hood and his mouth did not move into even the slightest of smiles.   
  
Sam saw that he was not going to speak to her so she walked at a pace slightly faster than his to get further ahead, but not far enough to where she would be eavesdropping on Malik and Amy.   
  
Altaïr watched as Sam picked her way up the hill at a fast pace, the white robes of her uniform billowing around her. He secretly admitted to himself that the impromptu training session had not been entirely horrible, and that his feelings of lust that he had felt for Sam when they had been on his horse had not dissipated. He told himself that he would not pursue her. He had been taught for much of his life that women were simply a distraction from his goals, ones that he would not be deterred from.   
  
The assassin caught up to Sam, watching as her hips still swayed when she walked.   
  
"This will prove to be very difficult." He whispered to himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to doing a final edit on some chapters so hopefully more will follow soon. Thanks so much for the kudos and feel free to drop a comment!
> 
> (Posting from mobile, fingers crossed that this formats correctly.)

Sam had slept well that night since she and Amy had been given their own separate, and permanent, rooms on the second floor. There were no disruptions and she found that the stone fortress cooled down considerably more than the bureau in Jerusalem had. She was half-awake when she realized that no one had come to wake her up yet. She snuggled up contentedly in her sheets and began to fall back into a blissful sleep. Altaïr, however, had different plans for her. Just as she was on the edge of consciousness the assassin pulled the sheets off of her, and she yelped as the cool air in her room hit what skin wasn't covered by her shift.   
  
"Your first lesson," he broke out into a smug grin, "always be on your guard."   
  
"I was sleeping!" Sam protested.   
  
"Then you would rather be killed in your sleep?"   
  
"I'd rather not be killed at all," She mumbled, but could not argue with his logic.   
  
"In order for that to happen you must train, so hurry and get ready. Meet me outside once you are dressed." Before she could react Altaïr threw a bundle of bandages at her.   
  
"What are these for?" She held up one between her forefinger and thumb while looking up at him curiously.   
  
Altaïr gave her an incredulous look, as if him having to explain himself proved her stupidity. "For binding your chest. You are lucky that Kadar did not notice yesterday."   
  
Sam watched as he left and closed the door behind him. She turned to look at her bra that she had left lying on the chest in the corner and wished that she could wear it instead.   
  
Amy had left her room early that morning in search of Malik's room. He had shown her late last night where it was located, should she require anything from him, but now she was completely turned around. Just as she was going to give up she was stopped by an assassin.   
  
"You, woman!" He called at her and gestured for her to walk over to him.   
  
Afraid she had done something wrong Amy fearfully lowered her gaze and trudged over to him. "Um, yes?" Remembering how harshly men treated women during this time she politely added, "Is there something I can help you with?"   
  
The man's face remained hard and his gaze unwavering, "Have you seen Altaïr?"   
  
Amy shifted her gaze to her feet. She wished that Malik were there, the man before her looked as if he would not hesitate to snap her neck if she even breathed the wrong way. "I-I don’t know," She stumbled over her words, "Um, perhaps you could ask someone else?"   
  
The assassin scoffed, "How useless you have proven to be, I will just have to search for him myself."   
  
Amy breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away.   
  
Meanwhile, Sam was binding her chest with the bandages Altaïr had given her. After a bit of struggling she secured the end with a knot.   
  
"This sucks, even a bra is more comfortable." She complained to herself.   
  
Within a few more minutes she had gotten dressed and put on a knee high pair of leather boots that she had spotted in the corner of the room. With a sigh she looked tiredly at the door, today was going to be a long day.   
  
"Altaïr!" Sam gasped as she nearly ran into him while walking out of the room.   
  
He raised an eyebrow at her, "What was taking you so long?"   
  
"Sam!" Amy's call interrupted what would have been a snarky reply.   
  
"Amy? Where have you been?" Sam asked as she ran up to them.   
  
"There's a man looking for Altaïr," she said while trying to catch her breath. "I thought I should let you guys know before you left. The guy was obviously looking for a fight."   
  
Sam looked over to Altaïr with a raised eyebrow, "A fight, huh?"   
  
"Abbas," Altaïr acknowledged, "he is always looking for a fight with me. It is best if we avoid him while we proceed with your training."   
  
Altaïr began to walk away. Sam glanced at his retreating figure before facing Amy. "I guess I have to go. Maybe you should find Malik, I'm sure he'll give you something to do." She suggested before jogging to catch up with the assassin.   
  
"So Altaïr," she began once she had caught up with him just outside of the main archway, "what are we going to do first?"   
  
Altaïr approached the overlook of the bailey and gazed down at the sparring circle that was beginning to be swarmed by younger students. Later on it would be filled with some of his peers. Altaïr smirked to himself and tapped his fingers against the rough wood railing that his hand was resting on.   
  
"Let's start with something easy. We will begin combat training at a later time."   
  
She rose an eyebrow, "Okay? So that didn't exactly answer my question."   
  
The assassin still did not answer her but began walking quickly down the slight slope and back up to a tall ladder leading up to the parapets. Sam rolled her eyes and hoped that he would not make a habit of this.   
  
"Ah, Altaïr!" The assassin that was standing next to the ladder greeted him as they approached. "Training this boy here are you?" He clapped Sam on the shoulder which both surprised and jostled her. Altaïr only grunted in response. The other assassin looked up to the top of the tower where she assumed they were about to climb. "Trying to break him in early, Altaïr?" He asked knowingly.   
  
Sam couldn't help but wonder what he meant by that. Her heart fluttered nervously as she wondered if she could survive whatever Altaïr was about to put her through.   
  
Altaïr, meanwhile, was holding back a smirk. "My student will be nothing but the best."   
  
The guard grinned, "As it should be! I'm sure you will teach him all you know."   
  
Altaïr nodded to the guard and began climbing up the ladder.   
  
Sam looked up at his ascending figure in despair.   
  
The guard patted her shoulder, "Don't worry, boy, you seem fit enough. Altaïr won't give you something to do that he thought was impossible."   
  
Sam highly doubted that but nodded nevertheless.   
  
"You should catch up to him," the guard stated blandly.   
  
Sam nearly gasped at how high Altaïr had already climbed. She quickly ran up to the ladder and began climbing it. When she was about halfway to the top she noticed that she was already getting small blisters on the areas of her hands that were not covered by her fingerless gloves. Sam groaned in annoyance and continued on until at last she reached the top and found herself on a small landing.   
  
Sam noticed four guards in the room, but none of the assassins were Altaïr.   
  
With a slight pause she noticed another ladder on the opposite side of the room and began climbing it as well. She knew that with her luck Altaïr had probably long since reached the top. Samantha picked up her pace at the thought of him scolding her. Once at the top she found herself in a long room, two guards were waiting at the top on either side and two others were spread across the room.   
  
"Could you have possibly taken longer?" Altaïr's voice asked sarcastically.   
  
Sam looked up to see him reclining in a chair, his feet propped up on a wooden table. She ignored his question as she massaged her burning arm muscles and surveyed the rest of the room more thoroughly. There were two rectangular tables lit up by small lanterns, even though it was daytime. To her right were five open arches with wooden planks leading out over the edge. The view it offered over the mountains was breathtaking, but she still looked through the open archways skeptically.   
  
"Why are we up here?" She asked and looked over to the assassin who had stood and was now stretching.   
  
"You will perform a leap of faith," he answered and walked past her to one of the wooden planks.   
  
Sam followed him cautiously, "What is that?"   
  
"You will jump from here," he pointed towards the edge of the plank, "to a pile of hay below."   
  
Sam peered over the edge, "Down there?"   
  
"Of course, this should be no problem for you. Right, novice?" He sneered.   
  
She stared in horrified silence at the long drop and the small pile of hay that seemed far too near to a wide ravine. Samantha had never been afraid of heights, but she had also never been asked to jump off of something so high off the ground with only a measly pile of hay to break her fall.   
  
"Right?" Altaïr nudged her forward.   
  
Sam looked at the plank fearfully, but carefully walked out onto it. She kneeled down at the end and gripped onto the wood tightly.   
  
"Now what?" She was too afraid to look back at the assassin.   
  
"Now you jump."   
  
"What if I fall wrong and break something?" Sam's knuckles were pale against the wood as she clamped down tighter onto it.   
  
"Be sure that you don't." Altaïr's voice came from her left side and she noticed he was on the wooden beam next to hers.   
  
"You're going to jump too?"   
  
"After you of course."   
  
Sam took a deep breath to calm herself. If Altaïr could do this, so could she.   
  
"The leap of faith, huh?" She muttered to herself, "What an apropos name."   
  
She closed her eyes, took another calming breath, and let her body fall forward off of the platform. Wind rushed past her face and blew her hood back. She had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from screaming and her eyes remained firmly closed. Samantha barely had time to consider that she may have just plummeted to her death before her body landed roughly in the hay stack below the tower.   
  
Sam heard a thud and then a rustling of hay.   
  
"Are you still alive?" Altaïr called.   
  
She groaned as she tried to move; a bruise was sure to be present on her back tomorrow. A hand then reached through the hay and grabbed her wrist, roughly heaving her out of the pile.   
  
Altaïr put a hand to his mouth to keep from chuckling at the woman in front of him. Sam was quite a sight as she emerged; her hood was down and her hair that had been tied back stuck out at odd angles. Pieces of hay clung to her tunic and could be seen sticking out of her light blonde hair. He could see that her eyes were starting to water and he hoped she would not cry.   
  
Samantha started to laugh. "I made it!" She exclaimed incredulously. "I can't believe I made it."   
  
She realized then that she could have just died simply because Altaïr wanted to scare her away from being an assassin. Her smile turned into a frown and she began plucking the hay off of herself before pulling her hood back over her head. "We don't have to do that again do we?" She asked crossly.   
  
"No, we are done with that, for today at least." He added for good measure.   
  
"Good," she rubbed her aching back, "So how do we get back inside?"   
  
The assassin pointed to a long wooden beam that led across the ravine to a landing. Another two wooden beams did the same until it led to the last landing.   
  
"You can't be serious," she deadpanned.   
  
"You could give up on becoming an assassin," he offered.   
  
Sam grimaced, "Just show me how."   
  
Altaïr raised a surprised eyebrow, most women would have stopped after they had made it to the top of the tower and were asked to jump off. Regardless, he shot off across the wooden beam with a practiced ease and stopped at the second landing.   
  
Sam narrowed her eyes at the beam in front of her. Her right foot went first, and then her left foot followed in front of her right. She ignored the fact that she probably looked extremely foolish with her arms flung out like an airplane in order to keep her balance. Her legs wobbled in nervousness and fear, she realized that she probably resembled a toddler on a playground and could not help but frown. Sam's features changed to that of determination as she wobbled her way to the landing that Altaïr was waiting for her on. Once there she looked at Altaïr expectantly for him to continue on to the last beam.   
  
"You may go first this time," he gestured for her to continue.   
  
Sam glanced at the wooden beam, "I don't trust you behind me."   
  
Altaïr shrugged, "I could leave you behind," he suggested.   
  
Samantha frowned and put an apprehensive right foot first onto the wooden beam. She went at a slow and steady pace. When she had gotten about halfway across Altaïr started onto the beam. She glanced back mid-step only to find that Altaïr was quickly gaining on her. He didn't look as if he would slow down either.   
  
"What the hell are you doing, Altaïr?" Sam cried as she hurried to shuffle faster across the beam.   
  
The assassin did not answer her until they had reached the other side.   
  
"When you are running from your enemies do you think they will wait for you to walk like a turtle across beams? No, you will be killed." He explained.   
  
Sam frowned, what he said made sense, but all she needed was more practice. The practice that she imagined certainly did not have her running across thin beams hundreds of feet above a ravine.   
  
"Let's just continue," she grumbled as she wiped some perspiration from her forehead.   
  
"Very well, you may find that this will prove to be more difficult for you."   
  
Altaïr led her to the face of a stone wall which she gauged to be about 100 feet high. All along it were ledges, with a few bricks sticking out from the rest of the flat surface.   
  
"We're going to have to climb that, aren't we?"   
  
The assassin nodded, "It will become pertinent to be able to overcome any obstacle when you are performing an assassination." Altaïr seemed to then rethink his words. "If you perform an assassination," he corrected with a slight sneer.   
  
Sam rolled her eyes, "Can we just get this over with?"   
  
"Fine, I will go first so that you can see the path that you will need to take."   
  
"How uncharacteristically kind of you," she mocked lightly.   
  
Altaïr grunted in acknowledgement of her words and ran up the wall, quickly finding a handhold for which to grip onto as he did.   
  
When he was a few feet off of the ground Sam slowly walked up to the wall, she saw a handhold nearby and made a sloppy jump for it. Her fingers caught onto a ledge of a brick sticking out of the wall. Her left hand shot out to grasp a brick above that to even out her body weight so that her right hand was not the only one supporting her. Sam's feet were barely off of the ground but she brought them up so that their soles were pressed against the wall. She sighed at the small distance she had covered and reached for another handhold.   
  
By the time she had scaled half of the wall sweat was pouring down face. The sweltering heat from the sun beating relentlessly down on her back certainly did not help either.   
  
Sam looked up to see that Altaïr was nearly at the top. With a sudden burst of energy, she began to climb faster, her only goal was to reach the top as soon as possible and prove Altaïr wrong about what she was capable of. With her new objective in mind she found determination boiling up in her and, despite the protest of her arm muscles, she scaled the wall at a pace that she didn't think she was capable of.   
  
As she neared the top Sam realized that what they had been climbing was actually a very tall tower that led across to the citadels high walls. She heaved herself over the edge of the tower and sprawled out on the warm stone floor.   
  
"I'm actually fairly impressed," She looked up from her spot on the floor to see Altaïr's appraising look.   
  
Sam groaned in response and wiped the sweat that had accumulated on her face on the sleeve of her tunic. "No wonder you're so fit, if you do that every day." She laid there for a second more before standing.   
  
Altaïr was on the other side of the tower, one hand resting on the railing as he gazed off into the distance.   
  
"What are you looking at?" She asked as she walked up beside him.   
  
"I was wondering where you are from. I would think somewhere in Europe, but you have no accent that I recognize."   
  
Samantha couldn't help but wonder why in the world he was thinking about that. "I'm not from Europe. Listen, in my time we have the entire world mapped out. In this time your cartographers and explorers have not even discovered where I am from."   
  
"It is a hard notion to swallow," he confessed. "The idea that everything is so much larger that my knowledge is daunting to say the least."   
  
Sam smiled slightly, he seemed just as human and out of place thinking about her time as she did living in his. The thought was comforting.   
  
"We can talk about it some other time," She promised, sensing his discomfort in revealing so much to her. "We have more training to do right?" Sam smiled over at him, some of the numbness in her limbs had begun to wear off and her arms began to feel less like wet noodles.   
  
She was surprised to find that Altaïr smiled back, "Indeed we do." The assassin climbed onto the edge of the railing and hopped over to the walkway of the castle wall where a few assassins were patrolling.   
  
Sam jumped the small gap and followed closely behind Altaïr, pointedly keeping her gaze down and away from the piercing eyes of the other assassins. The two walked over to the ladder that they had originally climbed up and began to descend down it.   
  
Sam sighed as they reached the bottom and cracked her neck, "So what's next?"   
  
"Combat training," Altaïr walked ahead of her and down the slope to the training ring.   
  
"With those men?" She asked worriedly.   
  
"Who else?" He asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.   
  
"I'll be slaughtered!" She protested as she gazed wide-eyed at the tall men who were roughly sparring with each other. "Couldn't we just wait until those cute kids come back and then I could fight them?" She pleaded pathetically.   
  
"You over-exaggerate."   
  
"And you are an evil man who only seeks to put me into as much danger as possible!"   
  
"You would be the laughing stock of all assassins if you were to fight those boys."   
  
"Better a laughing stock than beaten into a bloody pulp," she muttered.   
  
"Altaïr!" A man called out as they walked up to the ring, "What can I help you with? Surely not training for yourself?"   
  
"Rauf," Altaïr greeted the man by clapping him on the shoulder.   
  
Sam looked at the assassin who had been observing the fighting going on in the ring and shouting instructions to the fighters accordingly. His uniform was much like hers and Altaïr's except his hood was grey and a mask covered the bottom half of his face. His eyes were almost the only thing visible and were dark and sparkling with fire and joy, displaying how much he enjoyed what he did. This, she assumed, was training assassins how to fight.   
  
"My student," Altaïr placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward, "requires combat training."   
  
The other assassin nodded and began scrutinizing her appearance. "He's looks a bit small, but that's nothing that age and training won't fix."   
  
Sam tried to keep herself from frowning.   
  
"Don't be too sure of that," Altaïr chuckled.   
  
Rauf shrugged, "Either way we will find a place for him."   
  
"When is the soonest that he can spar with one of your current trainee's then?"   
  
"Fakih!" Rauf called out to the crowd of students. A young man stepped forward. "Get into the ring; you will be sparring," he paused for her input.   
  
"Sam," she mumbled, trying to erase any femininity from her voice.   
  
"Sam," he repeated slowly.   
  
Samantha observed the man who was scrambling over the wooden gate around the ring. He was probably a few years younger than her, a hood covered his head but his brown eyes were clearly darting nervously around. Fakih's body was nothing impressive either; his robes hung loosely off of his thin frame and wiry muscles could barely be seen beneath his sleeves.   
  
With any luck she would hopefully be able to best him.   
  
"Actually," Altaïr interrupted as she was about to climb into the ring, "I think Sam should spar Jabaar."   
  
Sam looked back at the assassin questioningly.   
  
"Are you sure?" Rauf's voice was full of concern.   
  
"Of course, my student will be the best. Whether she likes it or not." He grumbled the last part to himself. Altaïr walked over to Sam just as she finished jumping over the fence. "Here," he pulled a sword out of the weapon stand near the ring and handed it over with the pommel facing towards her.   
  
Sam grabbed onto the grip tightly and turned around to observe her new opponent that had just stepped into the ring. Jabaar was a much bigger man than the one she had hoped to fight. In fact, he was about two feet taller than she had hoped. His bulging muscles could be seen contracting underneath his sleeves as he easily swung his sword.   
  
Sam tried swallowing but found that her mouth had gone dry. The sword Altair had given her was heavy in her hands, but she couldn't back out now. Everyone around the training area was watching them with bated breath, wondering if Altaïr's novice could possibly survive against Jabaar.   
  
She couldn't embarrass herself here.   
  
Samantha shakily went into a sort of defensive stance, her feet spread apart and her legs bent at the knees so that she had better balance. Hopefully it would be enough to at least help her dodge and attack.   
  
"You may begin when ready," Rauf called to them.   
  
Before she could make any move towards him Jabaar charged at her, his sword flashing dangerously in the bright sunlight as it swung towards her. Sam reacted clumsily, unprepared for the onslaught of his attack, by sidestepping. The blade missed her by inches and Jabaar redirected its momentum so that it swung sideways at her. Her sword was barely up in time to meet his. A loud clang ensued and she could feel the impact reverberate up both of her arms.   
  
After a few minutes of trying to overpower her he jumped back and took a defensive stance.   
  
She didn't know if this was an invitation for her to attack, and if it was she had no clue how to go about it. Samantha knew she was supposed to look for a weak spot, a gap in his defense. It was then that she realized she was hopelessly out of her depth in this fight.   
  
Sam started forward slowly, knowing that she couldn't just stand there and wait for something to happen. In the background she could hear the other assassins shouting incoherent words at them.   
  
"Attack!" Altaïr's voice rang out above the crowd and startled her into motion.   
  
She ran towards Jabaar. If she had even one advantage it was being small and quick on her feet, but now she needed to find a way in which to attack. Her sword came down towards his shoulder but was easily deflected downwards and away from his body. This parry left him with her defenses down and an open area to strike at. Jabaar didn't miss a beat and thrust his blade forward towards her middle. Sam held her breath as she skipped backwards and out of the reach of the sharp steel that would have otherwise left her dead or seriously wounded.   
  
"Is that small boy your student, Altaïr?" A new, condescending voice had joined the crowd. Sam's head turned to look at the man who was now standing next to Altaïr with a frown evident on her face, she was getting really tired of all the condescending remarks about how small she was. She was almost as tall as most of the men for God's sake; the only thing she lacked was their muscle mass.   
  
"Yes, Abbas, he is." Sam recognized the name as the one that Amy had mentioned was searching for Altaïr earlier that morning.   
  
"Not much of a fighter, is he? Perhaps he should be working with the women in the kitchen instead?" Abbas chuckled at his own joke.   
  
Sam was panting and listening to their ongoing conversation. Sweat poured down her face and into her eyes. Her body wanted to give out on her, to give up on all of this and to return home.   
  
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a massive figure rushing towards her. Sam turned herself around to face Jabaar who was running towards her with his sword at the ready. She held her sword up as she feigned a defensive stance and at the last second she dodged to the side. Jabaar tried to stop and turn towards her but he was off balance and tripped. His hulking figure crashed to the ground and the courtyard erupted into laughter at his expense. Sam smiled sheepishly as he fixed her with a glare that could have murdered before getting to his feet and approached her with his sword held tightly in his hand.   
  
Sam gulped upon realizing her mistake in provoking him. She slowly began backing away as he came closer, until her back hit the fence encircling them. The men on the other side pushed her forward towards Jabaar.   
  
Jabaar sliced towards her again and she ducked under his blade before spinning around him so that his back was facing her. He turned around quickly and, much to her dismay, kicked her sword out of her hand. Sam stood there, no better than a sitting duck, as he thrust his sword. This time he aimed for her neck. Something primal kicked in at that moment and she avoided the blade by dropping as low to the ground as possible. Jabaar was again on the defensive but had little time to react as she slammed her hand into his as hard as she could, causing him to drop his sword.   
  
Her hand was throbbing but she was relieved that the fight was over. Moments later, though, she realized that the courtyard had become extremely silent. All of the calls of men had stopped. Even Altaïr's calls for her to find a rhythm in which to parry and then attack had stopped. She could only hear her own labored breath.   
  
It was only when she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun that Samantha realized that her hood had somehow fallen back. The silence that filled the courtyard was unnerving and all eyes were on her.   
  
"A woman!" Abbas' voice suddenly sliced through the silence.   
  
The training area erupted into a cacophony of men shouting and climbing over the fence towards her.   
  
"Grab her! She was impersonating a man!" Abbas shouted orders to the other men.   
  
Sam scrambled to grab her sword.   
  
One of the men ran up to her and swung his sword towards her torso. Sam was ready this time and she knew that this was not a spar where her opponent would not kill her. She blocked his sword with her own and deflected it downward as she had seen Jabaar do. With a swift kick to the groin the assassin was on his knees.   
  
Samantha ran past the man ready for the next attack, which came from Abbas. Sam swung back her sword, fully ready to meet him head on. Before their swords could clash a hidden blade met her sword and a short sword met Abbas'.   
  
"Altaïr! What is the meaning of this?" Abbas spat angrily.   
  
"Abbas, Samantha's training has been ordered by Al Mualim."   
  
The other assassin increased the pressure of his sword on Altaïr's, "This is an outrage!"   
  
"Let me fight him, Altaïr," Sam said lowly. If she would truly be killed because of pretending to be a man then she would rather die fighting.   
  
Altaïr disarmed her with one swift movement of his hidden blade.   
  
"Calm yourself," he told her softly, "keep a level head."   
  
"You are one to speak of keeping a level head," Abbas scoffed. "And you," he pointed a threatening finger at Sam after sheathing his sword, "you will not be an assassin for long." Abbas then stormed off, presumably to Al Mualim's tower.   
  
"You fought well today Samantha."   
  
Sam pushed past him without comment and he made no move to stop her.

* * *

  
  
A few hours went by, and after eating lunch Altaïr began meandering around the fortress, vaguely wondering where Sam had gone. When he finally looked up to see where his feet had taken him he found himself in the gardens. A few groups of young women were dispersed in different areas around the well-kept courtyard. He approached them cautiously.   
  
"Have you seen a woman about this tall?" he held up his hand to about the height of his chin. "She has fair skin, blonde hair, wearing an assassin's garb."   
  
"She passed through here a while ago in foul mood," one of the women sneered and pointed past the water fountain to a lower level.   
  
Altaïr didn't thank the woman but brushed past her and made his way to where she had gestured.   
  
He stood at the top of the stairs to find Sam sitting on the bottom landing with her legs in between the railings and looking out to the mountains.   
  
Altaïr sat down next to her and after a moment he realized that she could not see him because the hood that she had put over her head blocked her peripheral vision. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder.   
  
Sam jumped in surprise and her head whipped in his direction. "Altaïr," she acknowledged his presence and turned her head away to hide her face that was slowly being tinted pink in embarrassment.   
  
Altaïr said nothing but turned to look out over the mountain range.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Sam asked after a moment. "Shouldn't you be backing up Abbas on why I shouldn't become an assassin?"   
  
Altaïr rolled his eyes and sighed.   
  
Sam paused before asking softly, "Do you think Abbas will succeed in convincing Al Mualim to drop me from training?"   
  
The assassin hesitated before answering, knowing that anything was possible in this situation. "He seemed certain that you had the potential to become an assassin. I see no way that Abbas could change his opinion on that."   
  
Samantha heaved a deep sigh and let her head droop and shoulders slump forward. She was exhausted.   
  
"Your training is over for today novice. Go meet up with Amy and eat, or sleep if you wish. Tomorrow we will be inside the library studying about the history of assassins."   
  
"Why are you being so nice all of the sudden?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.   
  
The assassin shrugged, "I have my moments, just do not waste them."   
  
Samantha rose from her spot, "Well I certainly won't waste this one then."   
  
Altaïr watched as she sprinted off up the hill and thanked him with a wave. After she had gone he turned back around to look off into the distance. He let his head rest on the cement railing. Sam had exceeded his expectations today, but she still had much to learn.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's enjoying the story so far! Feel free to comment, every little bit of love helps the story go on!

Altaïr jolted awake; the dagger he kept under his pillow in hand. Sweat dripped down his unclothed torso. He noticed a shadowy figure in the doorway and blinked a few times to clear his vision. There stood Samantha, her long hair was down and fell over her shoulders in waves. She had a frown upon her face and one hand placed on her hip.   
  
"Are you alright?" She asked, sounding genuinely concerned.   
  
The assassin rested his face in his free hand, feeling the slick sweat that coated it. He had dreamt of his father's death again.   
  
"Altaïr?" Samantha inquired after he did not answer.   
  
The assassin looked back up at his student, a frown was still etched onto her face.   
  
"Leave me," Altaïr ordered, "I did not give you permission to enter my quarters, novice."   
  
"Bad dreams are nothing to be ashamed of," her voice held no hint of teasing. In fact, Samantha had woken up from a nightmare about being caught and tortured by a Templar. She shuddered at the recollection of it.   
  
Altaïr ignored her and sheathed his dagger. "Leave, woman," he repeated after she did not move from her spot against the doorframe.   
  
Sam rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like 'men' under her breath before exiting the room and closing the door.   
  
Altaïr drew a deep breath and got up from his pallet. His feet carried him to the window in his room and in one swift movement he drew back the blinds. He temporarily saw bright spots in his vision as sunlight beat down onto him.   
  
"No wonder she came to search for me," he mumbled and ran a hand through his messy hair, "it must be almost midday already!"   
  
The assassin moved to grab a towel to dry the sweat off of his body and then began to don clothes. He took his hidden blade gauntlet and strapped it to his arm, then moved to grab his sword from the small weapon rack against the wall. Before sheathing the blade he reveled in the feeling of holding it in his hand. The blade had cut down many of his enemies, both Templars and Saracens alike, and he knew it would serve to kill many more before his time was up. Altaïr sheathed his sword. He was proud to carry on his father's legacy as an assassin.   
  
He wondered why he was training Samantha, then, if he was as great as he thought then he shouldn't have been wasting his time with this task.   
  
A knock then came at the door and it opened. Samantha peered in curiously. "Ah!" her face lit up into a smile, "The assassin is finally ready! Come on, Altaïr, we have history to learn!"   
  
Altaïr grimaced as he realized he would be unable to rid himself this woman, or allow her to come to harm. Despite everything she seemed extremely pure of heart, noble, even.   
  
He followed the unusually chipper woman through the multiple hallways of the citadel. She seemed certain of her movements, as if she knew exactly where to go.   
  
In fact, after Sam had finished her breakfast she had spent her time productively, learning the layout of the fortress. Repeatedly retracing her steps to ensure that she would not get lost any time soon.   
  
"What has made you so content this morning novice?" Altaïr asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.   
  
"You'd be surprised what a good night's sleep and not being rudely awoken by an assassin can do for a person." Sam flashed him a cheeky grin.   
  
After a few more twists and turns in the hallway and down a flight of stairs they found themselves in the main entrance. Malik and Amy had already been there for quite some time while Samantha had left to fetch Altaïr. Both were now eagerly watching as their two friends walked up the stairs, wondering if another argument had sprung up between the two. Sam still held the same cheery smile that she had left with and Altaïr did not seem as hostile as usual, so they assumed nothing had gone wrong.   
  
"Amy, Samantha, please find these books on the shelves and bring them here." Malik ordered while giving them a list of a few book titles.   
  
After the girls had left to a bookshelf on the opposite side of the room Malik addressed Altaïr who had just sat down in a seat across the wooden table from him. "You are uncharacteristically late, brother."   
  
The other assassin shrugged. "I must not have heard the citadels bells that usually awaken me," he lied.   
  
Malik nodded his understanding, but still eyed his companion suspiciously.   
  
"So why is my novice in such high spirits today?" he asked, wanting an answer from someone other than her.   
  
"There were no arguments between you two this morning then?" Malik smiled and leaned back in his chair.   
  
Altaïr nodded. "None at all, I found it very odd."   
  
"She claims to enjoy studying history," Malik explained, "and seems very interested in the history of assassins especially."   
  
Altaïr 'Ah'-ed in understanding. He then watched his friend more closely. Malik's eyes shifted to the two women over at a bookshelf diligently looking for the tomes he had listed.   
  
"But perhaps it is something more than that," he whispered.   
  
"Speak plainly," Altaïr frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.   
  
"Amy came to my quarters crying in the middle of last night," Malik elaborated. "She told me that they are both very homesick. Perhaps Samantha just does not show it as plainly."   
  
"That is why she had been in such a foul mood since arriving?" Altaïr hadn't considered this even once; he had been too caught up with himself.   
  
"Their lives have been thrust into dangerous times," Malik added. "Samantha especially, with the weight of you being her mentor bearing down on her shoulders and the fear of being tossed out of the order it is a wonder she even has the motivation to rise each morning."   
  
The two assassins' conversation ended abruptly as Samantha and Amy sat a pile of books down on the rectangular table in front of them before taking their seats next to their appointed mentor. Altaïr stood after Samantha sat down and moved to the end of the table, mentally preparing a speech about the brotherhood.   
  
"La shay' haqiqah, koulo shay' moumkin," he began. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted." Altaïr paused to let his words sink in. "What does this mean?" he asked rhetorically. "It is the way of the assassins, a way of life, open to your personal interpretation."   
  
Samantha almost sighed, she would have liked their creed to be more structured with major rules or guidelines. Not to mention that it was extremely cynical.   
  
"There are only three tenants that are to be followed. If broken, punishment will be executed in whatever way Al Mualim deems fit." Altaïr said seriously. "The three tenants are as follows: Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent."   
  
Sam began to take mental notes, happy that there were at least some rules to be followed.   
  
"Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd," the assassin continued, "and the last and most important tenant: Never compromise the brotherhood."   
  
Amy nearly sighed, these were things that would apply more to Samantha than her.   
  
"As an assassin it is your duty to make sure that no innocent people come to harm under the power of those who are corrupt," he was now speaking directly to Samantha.   
  
The novice nodded in understanding. Altaïr was now face to face with her and had stopped his pacing that he had kept up throughout his speech.   
  
"Are you willing to sacrifice everything for the protection of others, novice?" The assassin asked, his eyes narrowing. "Are you willing to kill those who would cause pain and suffering to those who are helpless to protect themselves from it?"   
  
"I will pour everything I have into this cause." She knew now why she was being pulled to become an assassin. Samantha was not one to idly stand by while others were suffering, and these assassins seemed like a just cause. Even in school she had stopped bullies from picking on kids weaker than them. It was the same concept, except now she would be putting her life on the line. She also liked how the assassins took matters into their own hands rather than waiting around for some corrupt government to do something.   
  
Altaïr was both impressed and intrigued by the smoldering dedication in the Samantha's eyes. He wondered if she truly had what it took to take another's life in order to restore peace. "You have the makings of an assassin," he whispered to her as he sat down, "just prove to me that you are worthy of the title."   
  
Sam blinked in surprise of his acknowledgement. Before she could contemplate his change of attitude Malik had stood up to speak.   
  
"Assassins begin as novices and slowly move up the chain of command as they gain more experience. Samantha, you will first start off doing research in an appointed city for signs of corruption. You will use the skills of spying, pick pocketing, and tailing people to reveal those who show the potential of being threats to the livelihood of the innocent. Once you gain enough information about the person of interest they will be marked for assassination by those of a higher rank. Once you reach a slightly higher rank than that you will perform both the research and assassination. Much later you will be given the information by one of a lower rank and then perform the assassination only.   
  
"These books," Malik started a different conversation, "will aid you in the history of the war you two are entering in. There is also a history of previous assassins, and especially important is the book on herbs."   
  
"Good afternoon," Al Mualim interrupted the rest of Malik's speech as he greeted them and walked up the flight of steps towards them.   
  
The two women followed the assassins in standing up and bowing respectfully.   
  
The master assassin returned the gesture and bade them continue as he walked past them to his study in the middle of the library.   
  
"The history lesson is going well I hope?" he asked after he had sat down.   
  
"Very well, master, we are almost done," Malik answered.   
  
"Good, good. Malik take Amy and Samantha to the infirmary to be instructed on how to properly bind wounds and mix healing poultices. Altaïr and I have a few private matters to discuss."   
  
The three of them grabbed their books and bowed before taking their leave. Samantha was halfway down the stairs when she looked back curiously at the two men. She found that Altaïr's eyes were already upon her and quickly turned her head and hurried down the rest of the stairs.   
  
"How  fares her training?" Al Mualim asked after the trio had exited the room.   
  
Altaïr tore his eyes away from the spot where Samantha had stopped to look back at him. "It is going well, she seems to be adapting quickly to both free running and fighting. She took down Jabaar," he replied.   
  
"No easy feat." The older assassin chuckled, but then his face grew grim, "Not long after that, Abbas paid me a visit."   
  
Altaïr's proud half-smile faltered. "Yes, I imagined he would."   
  
"I personally do not mind if the other assassins know that Samantha is a woman."   
  
The younger assassin breathed a silent sigh of relief.   
  
"However, you know Abbas just as well as I."   
  
"He would have her executed" Altaïr acknowledged.   
  
"Naturally," Al Mualim sighed.   
  
"You cannot let that happen."   
  
The master raised an eyebrow at Altaïr's sudden change of heart. "You seem very adamant about this, please, speak your mind."   
  
The assassin chose his words carefully, "I have seen the potential that you had guessed at is all."   
  
Al Mualim seemed unfulfilled with this answer but did not press further.   
  
"She will not be put to death. However, I suggest you watch her closely," the master assassin's tone was grim. "There is no telling what Abbas would do if he caught her alone. The consequences could prove fatal."   
  
"What of Amy?" Altaïr inquired. "She has run into Abbas once accidentally."   
  
"Luckily Abbas has not caught wind of her being closely related to Sam."   
  
"Is there anything else you wish me to do, master?"   
  
Al Mualim rubbed his chin in thought before speaking, "Continue focusing Sam's training on free running and fighting. I feel that she will have the opportunity to make her first assassination soon."   
  
"It is much too early! She hasn't even received training on pickpocketing, throwing knives, assassination techniques, tailing, the list goes on and on!" Altaïr rambled, exasperated.   
  
His master shrugged. "As true as that may be I have a special assignment for her and Amy. Lightly touch on these subjects within the next few days and report back to me. I want Samantha ready to kill by the end of the week," he proclaimed.   
  
Altaïr groaned inwardly. "Of course, it will be done," he consented before bowing his head slightly downward.

* * *

  
  
Meanwhile, Samantha and Amy were in the infirmary with Anass and Malik.   
  
"No, no, like this." Anass was having a bit of trouble teaching Samantha how to properly wrap a wound.   
  
Amy giggled and looked back at Sam who had her arms crossed over her chest and was pouting. She was glad that tending the wounded was something she excelled at, and it didn't hurt that she could rub it in her friends face too.   
  
Samantha watched as Anass showed her once more on an injured assassin how to wrap a sword wound. She felt bad for him, she had spent nearly twenty minutes wrapping and re-wrapping his arm, hoping to get it right. Sam groaned as he passed out from either the pain or blood loss. She should have never been trusted with this.   
  
Anass sighed at his student. "Alright who is next?" he asked a few of the assassins who were sitting and waiting for their minor injuries to be wrapped.   
  
Each of the assassins in question took turns looking at each other and back at Sam. They each came to the same conclusion and shook their heads vigorously. None of them wanted her to treat them.   
  
Anass sighed again as Amy and Malik shared another bout of laughing. "Perhaps we should go on to mixing ingredients."   
  
Even after everyone had left for dinner Sam remained in the infirmary, practicing a coagulant solution meant to stop bleeding before bandages would be applied. However, each time she tried there was something missing. She just couldn't put her finger on it. Samantha leaned over the wooden table to look at the herb book that Amy had brought from the library.   
  
"I thought I might find you here."   
  
Sam whirled around to face Altaïr.   
  
"What are you doing here?" She asked venomously due to the fact he had snuck up on her.   
  
The assassin held his hands up in surrender, "Is it wrong for me to check up on my novice?" He shot her a sly smile.   
  
Sam sighed. "No, I suppose not."   
  
She turned back to the book to continue studying the ingredients needed.   
  
Altaïr walked up beside her. "How fares your studies of healing?"   
  
"Not so great," Sam was becoming aggravated by his distracting presence.   
  
"Why is that?" The assassin moved to lean against the table.   
  
"There is something wrong every time I try to make this," she jabbed at the recipe with a powder covered finger.   
  
"Ah," he acknowledged. "Malik has always been more of a master at these things, but I remember this poultice well. Would you like my assistance?"   
  
Samantha looked at him skeptically, "Anass has already shown me how to make it. He just said that I would have to practice."   
  
"How well has that worked so far?" A slight smirk graced his lips as he peered around the cluttered mess she had created. "Once more I will ask, would you like my help, novice?"   
  
The woman rolled her eyes. "Sure, why not?"   
  
Altaïr took off his bracers and began rolling up his sleeves. "When I was a novice I had the same problem with mixing herbs," he admitted, "I was far too impatient."   
  
Samantha stepped aside to give him access to the ingredients. "Funny, my mom always said that about my cooking," she muttered.   
  
"Pace yourself," he moved to set a kettle over the fire burning in the fireplace in the corner.   
  
"Easier said than done." Sam began putting the dry ingredients together in the bowl one at a time, taking great care in putting just the right amount of each in.   
  
"Better," Altaïr said as he approached her. "Why is it you seem so frustrated?" He asked after seeing her sour expression.   
  
"Amy is much better than this than I am. I just don't see the point in it when I should be training in sword fighting or something."   
  
She watched as Altaïr leaned against the table next to her. "This is just as important. What would you do if Amy was injured and nothing could help but a poultice that you were supposed to learn and did not?"   
  
Samantha shifted uncomfortably. "You sound like you speak from experience."   
  
"I do."   
  
The kettle began to whistle just then and Sam rushed to go retrieve it. She had simply been frustrated when she had said that she shouldn't need to know about this, but now she regretted every word. Altaïr had lost a friend because of his ignorance and now she felt extremely guilty for complaining. Her hands were careful as she poured just the right amount of water into the mix. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like to lose Amy, and that was why she had to get this right.   
  
"Stir it slowly," Altaïr ordered as she picked up a wooden spoon, "it will not set correctly if it begins to froth."   
  
She did as she was told, slowly moving the spoon around until the ingredients had mixed with the water and thickened into the dark green paste that the book had described.   
  
"Well done," the assassin complimented as he looked over her handiwork. "Much better than before," he indicated the bowls of discarded tan looking concoctions.   
  
Samantha breathed a soft sigh of relief and went to close the book beside Altaïr. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't mean to dredge up your past."   
  
Altaïr put a hand on her shoulder to turn her around to face him. "It was my own mistake and I would not want to see you needlessly repeat it."   
  
"Thank you for helping me." She was still ashamed of what she had said but was extremely thankful that he had bothered to help her.   
  
Perhaps when he got annoyed at her again she would remember this moment and remember that Altaïr had gone through much more than he let on.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night because I have no self control!

The rest of the week had been an exhausting blur for Samantha. The first few days she and Altaïr had spent doing non-stop free running exercises, and more often than not she would lay in her room unable to sleep due to aching muscles.   
  
Towards the end of the week there was a shift in her everyday training to include skills that required more finesse. Pickpocketing had been the hardest for her, and she was often caught with her hand in a pouch by the other novices that she had been training with. By the end of the week she had gotten the technique down to where she was caught only once or twice. Eavesdropping was also one of her more difficult lessons. Samantha found it tricky to weed out all of the other conversations going on around her and then pinpoint the voices of those she needed to hear. Occasionally she would have to get off of the allotted benches and move slightly closer to the targets while trying to look busy.   
  
Altaïr had spent their last day in Masyaf teaching her where to strike with a dagger to make a clean kill as well as how to sneak up on an opponent. She still wasn't quite sure where she stood when it came to taking another human beings life, but she told herself that the people she would be killing deserved it.

  
Samantha also discovered, much to her dismay, that she would not have her own hidden blade until she had reached Altaïr's rank. Apparently this required Al Mualim's approval, many successful missions, and a series of trials. The ceremony also included the removal of her ring finger. Sam had looked forward to receiving the weapon up until that particular point.   
  
During the week she had not seen much of Amy but would meet up with her, and sometimes Malik, for dinner. Her friend would tell her of what amazingly useful herbs this century had and how they would cure things as compared to during their time.   
  
Altaïr did not join them during their dinners, which was just fine with her. She saw the grumpy assassin almost all hours of the day. The evenings were the one time she had to herself and she wanted to keep it that way.   
  
On the days when Samantha did not feel like collapsing on her bed she would wander around the village below the fortress and observe what wares the shopkeepers had imported. Other times she would walk around in the library picking up books here and there to peruse through.   
  
The thing that Samantha loved most about her first week in Masyaf had to be the view of the surrounding land. She had claimed the lowest terrace of the gardens as her resting area. Sam would gaze up at the mountains jutting into the cloudless pink skies during the evening, or down below to the crystal clear waters of the river winding through the land.   
  
One thing she could do without, however, was the heat. Each day seemed hotter than the last, and no clouds blocked any sunlight. Sam had begun to wonder if it ever rained at all. One day she had even searched for the coolest part of the fortress and found it was the wine cellars that were dug deep into the earth to keep the wine cool. It was childish of her, but the cellar was a little too dark and creepy for her taste and she never returned.   
  
Her experiences were both good and bad, but time went on and the week ended. Samantha now found herself in the bureau of Damascus. Returning to the city where she and Amy had first arrived had been surreal, but the city itself held little interest for her. She would have preferred to stay in Masyaf where at least the towers had gusts of wind blowing through them.   
  
"It's not even a humid heat," Sam was complaining as she sat by the fountain near the entrance of the bureau, "it's a dry heat. It's even worse!"   
  
"Sam you complaining about the heat isn't going to make it less hot," Amy whined as she fanned herself with a piece of parchment that she had taken and folded up.   
  
The blonde groaned in response as she threw herself onto one of the pillows lying on the carpet. "I wish Altaïr and Malik would hurry up and give me my mission so that we can go back to Masyaf."   
  
"Looks like you won't have to wait much longer," Amy commented as she noticed the two assassins standing in the doorway.   
  
Sam stood to face her mentor, fully ready to get her mission underway. All of the training that week had given her a newfound confidence. She knew better than to think that she was a master assassin, but also understood that Al Mualim would not give her a mission that he did not deem her ready for.   
  
"Normally novices would not perform an assassination so-"   
  
"Early in their training, you've reminded me on multiple occasions," Samantha interrupted impatiently.   
  
She received a withering glare. "You will do well to wait until your mentor is done speaking, novice," Altaïr growled in warning.   
  
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and frowned, foot tapping impatiently.   
  
"As I was saying, you should not being doing this so soon, but Al Mualim insists that it is a special mission specifically for you and Amy to prove your loyalty."   
  
Samantha had been wondering why Amy had to come along on this mission. She was afraid of putting her in danger again, but at least felt confident that now she could protect her friend if she had to.   
  
"You will spend today collecting information on your target and then perform the assassination tomorrow," Altaïr finished.   
  
"Wait I'm not doing it today?" Sam asked as her attention snapped back to the conversation.   
  
Altaïr clenched his fist trying to calm himself, "Weren't you listening?"   
  
"Yes, yes, calm down," she waved him off.   
  
The assassin glared but she simply sent him a teasing smile. Sometimes it was almost too easy for her to annoy him.   
  
Samantha walked past the two men and into the main room where the Rafiq was painting a clay pot. He sent her a nod of acknowledgement and she inclined her head in return. The blonde then quickly grabbed an inkwell, quill, and scrap piece of parchment before looking over at Altaïr who was watching her from the doorway. "What was my targets name again?"   
  
"Asham Ragoul," the assassin repeated and looked at her skeptically as she went to write it down.   
  
"Could you spell that?" she asked and tried not to smile as Altaïr tensed his muscles in anger.   
  
The warning look that Malik shot her from over the other assassins shoulder told her not to push him any further.   
  
"Alright, alright," she said mockingly as she walked over and patted Altaïr's shoulder, "don't get all worked up."   
  
The assassin had obviously become fed up with her antics so she rushed to the exit of the bureau and climbed onto the lattice roof before he could attempt to catch her. Samantha then stuck her head down to say goodbye to Amy, Malik, and Altaïr. "Don't miss me too much!" she called down to them before running off to jump onto another roof.   
  
Sam stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath of air before covering her head with her hood. It was her first time recovering information for a mission, not to mention her first time roaming freely through the city of Damascus.   
  
The woman took a look at a few of the landmarks around the area to remember for when she would return to the bureau before taking off, jumping and running from rooftop to rooftop with purpose.   
  
Altaïr had told her once they had entered the city to look for a viewpoint, such as a tall tower where she could get a good look at the city. He pointed one out to her just outside of the bureau and she noted a large bird of prey circling near the top of it.   
  
Her eyes spotted the same tower to the west. In a few minutes time her feet had carried her to the base of the tower. Already Sam could feel sweat trickling down her face and she impatiently wiped it away. The sooner she got information, the sooner she could return the shade of the bureau.   
  
Samantha rubbed her gloved hands together and began her steady ascent to the top. The climb felt like it had taken hours and she was actually thankful for the many times that Altaïr had made her scale the tall towers around Masyaf fortress to help train her.   
  
The top of the tower drew nearer, and at such a height the wind blew strongly and billowed her white robes around her. Samantha was glad that there was a landing as well as railing at the top, as it allowed her a moments rest before she would have to continue onwards. She removed her hood, grateful of the brief reprieve from the heat of the rooftops.   
  
After a moment she decided it was time to venture out to the ledge of the tower to see what she could. Her feet edged out onto the thin wooden plank and she prayed that she would be able to concentrate on details of the city without plummeting to her death.   
  
Samantha's eyes swept over the ground below her and she forced herself to ignore the height. She could determine what area was the rich district by the colorful rooftop tiles shimmering in the afternoon sun and which was the poor district based on the shabbier buildings. Her eyes closed and she gripped onto the wood below her to keep from swaying. Sam focused on trying to hear snippets of conversation below her.   
  
The drunken babbling of a man floated up. A poor woman was begging for money. Street urchins were fighting over a scrap of food. The cacophony of the city blurred together until something that could help her reached her ears, a conversation in the small marketplace below.   
  
Samantha knew she would have to move quickly in order to get to a better vantage point. The cart of hay was far below her and she made an effort to try to not psych herself out. In one swift motion she pushed off of the plank with the toes of her boots and pitched forward into the air.   
  
Sam let out a deep sigh of relief when she felt herself hit the pile of hay. Doing the leap of faith more than once didn't help the fact that there was a chance she might die every time.   
  
She still had to hurry though. Sam jumped out of the cart and quickly pushed her hood back over her head since it was still much safer for people to think she was a man. As she walked she brushed pieces of hay from her robes and navigated to the nearby market.   
  
As she arrived Sam scanned the area in search of the two men she had heard speaking. At once her eyes were drawn to two men whispering conspiratorially to each other near the edge of the small vicinity.   
  
Samantha walked around the edge of the crowd and along the walls of the surrounding buildings to reach a nearby bench. Two women whose faces were shrouded in cloth sat on the edge of the bench, leaving Samantha the edge furthest from the men to sit.   
  
The women seemed to take no notice of her and continued with their conversation about some man one of them was seeing. Sam attempted to concentrate on the conversation of the men a few feet away. Unfortunately, the two women next to her had erupted into a bout of giggling.   
  
Samantha wrestled with herself to focus on the task at hand but quickly snapped. She sprung from the bench, knowing that she could waste no time in finding another place to blend in. Her feet took her past the two men and around the corner of a building. The voices of the men were easily heard even over the din of the marketplace and she knew that she had made the right choice in leaving the bench.   
  
"That brat has been a menace to the city his whole life."   
  
"His father has given him everything he has wanted since birth. You cannot expect him to level with those less fortunate."   
  
The first man snorted, "Less fortunate, indeed. Ever since inheriting his father's business we have been left with little while he takes all of the profit for himself."   
  
"Enough, we should not speak any more of this matter while here."   
  
The two men said goodbyes and presumably parted ways.   
  
Samantha stood there for a moment to mull over the meager information she had just received. Obviously she was in the poor district of Damascus and Asham was some sort of noble. From what she had heard he took most of the money that people were working hard for which, she reasoned, was why the order wanted him dead.   
  
She quickly decided that the rich district would have to be her next stop.   
  
As she walked she wished, not for the first time, that she had some sort of map. It would have been easier than trying to get back onto the roofs in order to reorient herself. It surprised her, but the streets were actually more enjoyable than free running over the city. They were alive and thrummed with an unseen energy. People gossiped, they sold their wares, they rushed about doing daily chores. The whirlwind of it all excited her and she wanted nothing more to be swept away in the crowd to see what the city had to offer. All of it distracted Samantha from her mission.   
  
It was not all for nothing, though. As she walked she saw the squalor that some lived in and it sent pangs of guilt into her heart. She knew that there were rich nobles, like the one she was hunting, living in this very city who had plenty enough money to give to these people. It was these thoughts that pulled her mind back to the task at hand.   
  
As Samantha continued walking she realized that she had become hopelessly lost. She was beginning to tire and the hot sun and crowded streets were beginning to cause a lethargic weight to crash upon her. She settled herself under a shady ledge of a building to attempt to cool down. Her eyes closed and she rested there a moment.   
  
Even by just listening to her surroundings Sam could tell that she had reached her destination. She could hear talk of exotic silk, spices, and jewelry coming from the vendors as well as their patrons.   
  
She resumed her search.   
  
"You there! You look like a strapping young man! Would you be interested in buying this beautiful, handcrafted rose pendant? Any woman would love the man who gave her it!"   
  
Samantha kept her head down and walked determinedly through the market. The vendors were a minor nuisance but one that she had precious little time for. It was difficult, but she managed to walk around the market three times in about a half an hour. She was about to give up when a voice from the other side of a stall piqued her interest. Sam peeked her head around the corner to get a look at the man who had spoken and she pinpointed him as the younger of the two men standing there.   
  
"Hassim, what is it you have for me?" A second voice that belonged to a man in his late thirties asked. He was dressed more humbly than the first man but was still obviously wealthy.   
  
"My master, Asham Ragoul, wishes for his order to be placed immediately and to arrive tomorrow at the destination in this letter." The younger man was dressed in fine silken robes, ones which price would have probably fed a family for weeks.   
  
"Of course, anything for the finest man in this city," the man bowed low.   
  
"Your flattery will get you nowhere old man," the younger spat, "now go on with your business and make sure that this letter gets to the right people."   
  
"Of course," the man bowed again and scurried off into the market.   
  
Sam knew that she would have to get that letter, and there was no place better than in a crowded market.   
  
She began to tail the man as he rushed through groups of nobles, looking back every so often as he did. It occurred to her that he might know he was being followed, but the idea was preposterous. Samantha knew that she was doing everything just as Altaïr had instructed her to. She always walked behind others and acted as inconspicuous as she could; there was absolutely no way that she would be found by a backwards glance.   
  
Her prey continued onwards and she hung back as long as she could, waiting for the perfect opportunity to show itself. She made her move when the man entered a tight crowd of people where there would be no way that he would take note of someone even brushing up against him. The finesse required to pickpocket someone was immense and she knew that she hadn't had enough time to practice before leaving Masyaf. At this point she was just praying that she had chosen the right moment to move and that she could get the letter without drawing attention to herself.   
  
Luck was on her side that day. Samantha had easily nudged through the crowd of people, timed her reach perfectly, and clasped tightly onto the paper before slipping it out of the man's pouch. Sam turned on her heel and retreated as quickly as she could while tucking the letter into a pouch on her belt.   
  
Her nervous pulse was still thudding in her ears and she forced herself to breathe normally. She was immensely proud of herself, and a small part of her hoped that Altaïr would be too. Despite all of his glares and disparaging remarks she still cared for her mentor's opinion, especially since she was trying to prove to both Altaïr and herself that she could become an assassin.   
  
Samantha wasn't sure how many clues about her target she was supposed to get. She knew that he was detrimental to the community as well as where something would be delivered to him and she supposed that was enough. If it wasn't then she would go back out tomorrow and postpone the assassination.   
  
The sun was getting low on the horizon and she decided to head back to the bureau before it became too dark for her to navigate through the city. She managed to ignore the amazed gasps of passerbys as she crawled to the top of a roof. A light breeze pulled at her hood as she ran and she threw it back, figuring that she wouldn't need it as long as she was off the streets.   
  
It was much easier to tell where she was from higher up and Sam quickly determined that the bureau was back to the east. Her feet took her unerringly across roofs and over walkways; the fact that she hadn't messed up once today was a major confidence boost. Her heart felt as if it was soaring which made the trip feel much faster and before she knew it she had jumped off of the roof and into the bureau.   
  
Night had now fallen upon Damascus and more lanterns and candles were lit within the building than there had been in the daytime. Upon her entrance to the main room she was tackled into a hug.   
  
"You did it! I bet you found a bunch of stuff!" Amy squealed excitedly as she clung to her friend.   
  
Samantha couldn't help but to let a giggle escape from her lips.   
  
"What did you learn of your target?" Malik asked as Amy released her.   
  
"Well he's a noble's son who inherited his father's business and is now reaping most of the benefits for himself, leaving little for those of lesser standings," She recited the words that she had been going over in her head on the way to the bureau.   
  
"Do you know what his whereabouts will be as of tomorrow? What of your plans to assassinate this man?" Altaïr, of course, doubted that she had fully completed her task.   
  
"I will," Samantha dug the letter she had stolen out from her pouch.   
  
Sam opened the letter and began to read, her eyes silently skimming over the words. "The letter gives the exact location he will be tomorrow with a detailed map. Asham will be in the rich district," she finally told them, her expression suddenly sour, "and he ordered whores."   
  
"Is that why Al Mualim wanted us to do this mission?" Amy questioned, rounding on Malik as she did.   
  
Malik took the scroll that Samantha shoved into his hands. "Your target is constantly guarded except for when he is with women," he explained, "you will simply have to get him alone, nothing more."   
  
Samantha wanted to be more upset, but his logic was solid. She would simply have to handle it, as she always did.   
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write. Drop a comment and let me know what you think!

Sleep that night had been almost nonexistent for Amy, and she wondered how Samantha could be sleeping so soundly next to her before her first assassination. The redhead rolled over to face the tan colored wall that was bathed in moonlight. 

She wished, not for the first time, that she had never went to that museum with Samantha. Amy reminded herself that it was not her friend's fault, and that she probably missed home just as much. Home had good food, comfortable beds, air conditioning, and, most of all, the feeling of safety. Not once since arriving in this time had she felt safe, she always felt the need to look over her shoulder to search for danger. There was no reprieve from this feeling. 

She was jealous of Sam's soft snores and wished she could close her own eyes and drift into the black nothingness of sleep.   
  
Amy continued to turn the plans of the next day over in her mind. The two assassins had made it clear enough that they did not have to sleep with the target, but only had to lull him into a false sense of security until Sam had the opportunity to strike. It sounded easy enough and yet she still had her worries. What if the target realized that they were assassins? What if Sam slipped up? What if they were caught by guards? What if they were killed?   
  
There were so many what ifs.   
  
It was early in the morning before Amy's mind had had enough and shut down. Her eyes gradually closed and she drifted off into sleep.   
  
Sam awoke early, however, just before the sun began to rise over the city. After her uninterrupted night of sleep she was refreshed and ready to go. Her eyes searched for Amy who she found curled up near the wall, still asleep. The woman decided to give her friend some more time to rest before waking her up.   
  
Samantha washed her face quickly in the basin in their room and then made her way to the main room of the bureau. Altaïr, Malik, and the Rafiq were already awake and speaking about some political matters in hushed voices until they took notice of Sam.   
  
"Good morning everyone," she greeted cheerily.   
  
She received a 'good morning' from Malik and the Rafiq and a silent nod of acknowledgment from Altaïr. The three men then dispersed from their places near each other in the room. Malik moved to wake Amy up, and Altaïr threw an apple in Sam's direction which she caught and began to munch on. The Rafiq moved behind his desk and began to put minute touches on a map drawn intricately across a large piece of parchment.   
  
After a few moments Amy shuffled into the room followed by Malik. She rubbed her bleary eyes, attempting to rid herself of the remains of sleep while moving to slouch into a chair against the back wall.   
  
"Didn't sleep well?" Sam asked with a touch of concern.   
  
Amy waved her off. "I'll be fine, the sooner we finish this the sooner I can rest easy."   
  
"We shall begin as soon as you are dressed and ready," Altaïr said and threw the two women a bundle of clothes, "there is a covering included so that we may walk to the rich district unhindered."   
  
By this time Sam had finished her apple and disposed of it and Amy was too nervous to do anything other than to get ready.   
  
"Amy you're shaking," Sam commented as they began to don clothes in a separate room.   
  
"Can't really blame me, can you?" she mumbled.   
  
Samantha had just finished buttoning the last toggle on her loose outer covering that reached just past her ankles and turned to her friend. "Neither of us expected this," she put a comforting hand on Amy's shoulder, "but it'll be okay". Truth be told, she was just as terrified of this mission. Sam knew, though, that she had to appear strong. Otherwise she would never gain the respect of the assassins.   
  
"I know, I'm sorry." Amy exhaled a deep breath.   
  
Sam smiled and playfully punched her friend's shoulder. "Hey, it's not like you'll be doing any of the hard work."   
  
Amy rolled her eyes before unfolding her clothes. "Sam, do you think this is supposed to be makeup?"   
  
Samantha looked over to what her friend was holding. There was a box full of a cream colored powder, another full of a thick red substance, and a stick of kohl. "Interesting, want to give it a try?"   
  
The two women spent a little extra time helping each other try out the makeup. Sam was glad of it, since the simple act made her feel as if she could be back home and getting ready to leave her house.   
  
"Are you two done so that we may proceed?" Asked an impatient voice on the other side of the door.   
  
Sam sighed as the illusion was broken. Amy adjusted her outer dress and pulled open the door.   
  
"Go and see the Rafiq," Altaïr ordered.   
  
Samantha strode down the hallway, the slippers she was wearing padding softly on the floor.   
  
The Rafiq looked up as she arrived in front of his desk. He placed a white feather before her, "The best of luck to you, novice. Safety and peace."   
  
"Safety and peace, Rafiq," She replied and retrieved the feather.   
  
Sam turned to face Altaïr and he nodded slightly. The group exited the bureau through the side entrance and turned to find themselves on a busy street of vendors.   
  
"Stay behind us at least a few feet," Malik reminded, "keep your eyes downcast and your hoods up."   
  
The two women nodded their understanding and they began walking down the street. Both found it hard to keep their eyes towards the ground while trying to track where they were going. Dirt and dust were kicked up by the crowd of people and the sun was scorching. The trip was wholly unpleasant, luckily the bureau in the city was not all too far from the rich district if one knew where to go and what areas to avoid.   
  
While they walked Samantha was fretting over allowing her friend to walk into unnecessary danger. That, and she was worried that she would be unable to end this man's life no matter how awful he was. Those men in the market had obviously been hurting financially for a long time under the greedy rule of this man. If she could kill him maybe, just maybe, a difference could be made and righteousness would prevail. All rationale aside, she was still deeply afraid of killing another human being. Soldiers had been traumatized in war after killing and she was willingly going to kill this man, whom she had never even met, in cold blood.   
  
Sam's thoughts halted as Altaïr and Malik stopped in front of a tall, ornate building. Tiles of blue and yellow accentuated its roof and were made into a pattern that very much resembled the sun reflecting off of the ocean. Sam noted that escape would be difficult if the curved tiles were as slippery as they looked.   
  
She did not have much time to examine the rest of the building in its entirety. Two men in light armor stood guard outside the entrance and were now engaged in conversation with Malik who had produced the paper that Sam had stolen the day before.   
  
Altaïr and Malik had surprisingly not dressed in their assassin's robes, but instead wore thick robes of red with a gold sash around their waists. She hadn't had much time to look them over before they had left but she assumed that they had the clothing for blending in with nobles of the city. All weapons accounted for, each man had a short sword that hung on their waists, daggers in each of their boots, and a hidden blade covered by their long baggy sleeves.   
  
"Sirs," Sam heard one of the guards whisper hurriedly, "our master did not expect you to come yourselves."   
  
Samantha's palms began to sweat; already there was a flaw in the plan.   
  
"We would not trust anyone else with the task," Malik quickly covered.   
  
"Very well then," one of the guards nodded, "we should not keep our master waiting."   
  
Both Altaïr and Malik nodded.   
  
"Come," Altaïr growled and took Sam by the upper arm with more force than was necessary. Had she not known better, she would have almost believed his act.   
  
Sam and Amy were swept into the house. The foyer was nothing special, the floor consisted of dirty slate and a decorated pot in the corner was the only ornamentation.   
  
Near the end of the hall the guards took a sharp right and unlocked a door. The next hallway was much more impressive. Pure white tiles that looked as if no one had ever set foot on them decorated the floor, and brightly colored tapestry's depicted what looked to be a harem of women bathing in crystal clear pools.   
  
Other than that, the hallway was fairly short with a 'door' consisting of maroon curtains with gold tassels at the bottom. Sam didn't like it. It was close quarters and she felt that escape out the front door would be just as hard as on the roof, assuming that there was even a window leading onto the roof. Her only chance in this hallway would be to bottleneck the guards.   
  
She ceased her planning as one of the guards went through the curtain, leaving the rest of the party standing within the hall. Sam looked over to Amy who was nervously glancing back and forth between Malik and the erotic tapestry. She wondered what Altaïr was thinking. A quick look at his face betrayed nothing to her other than that he wore the scowl that was ever present on his face. At least he had no hood hiding his face now. Sam quickly tried to recall if she had ever even seen it before.   
  
Altaïr noticed her staring and shot her a glare to get her to stop. Samantha took one last look at his messy brown hair and piercing eyes before lowering her gaze once more just as the guard returned through the curtain.   
  
"My master will see you now."   
  
The group entered the room flanked by the two guards.   
  
Sam had never put much thought into what the man she would be killing would look like, but the man before her looked nothing like what she would have pictured. He was younger than she had imagined, perhaps in his early twenties. He was not terrible to look at and was, in all actuality, fairly attractive. His shaggy black hair looked roguish despite his heritage, and thick stubble remained on his face from days of not shaving.   
  
His clothing betrayed his status. The man wore silky violet pants that hugged his legs closely and a golden sash was tied around his waist. A bright red vest covered some of his torso, but was undone so as to accentuate his toned abdomen. Sam knew the handsome man for what he was despite his pleasant appearance. He was vain, and a thief who reaped the benefits that others should have been receiving. Families were starving because he would rather spend money on beautiful women to fuck.   
  
"My good sirs!" The target welcomed Altaïr and Malik with open arms. "My guard has told me of your presence." A charming smile crossed his face.   
  
"We wished only to deliver them ourselves." Samantha could tell that Malik was keeping talk to a minimum.   
  
"Rest assured, they are in good hands." A lusty grin twisted the targets face unpleasantly and made Sam sick to her stomach.   
  
She returned her gaze to the floor. Samantha told herself that she had to swallow her fears and focus on the task at hand. The last thing she wanted was to screw up her first mission, and her hands shook slightly at the thought of failure. They could be imprisoned, killed, raped—she couldn't think beyond that.   
  
"We leave you then," Altaïr and Malik bowed slightly at their waist and were escorted from the room by one of the guards.   
  
Samantha wished that they would have at least looked back and sent her a reassuring look. She knew that it would have aroused suspicion, but she needed the comfort.   
  
"Do you require anything else, master?" The remaining guard asked.   
  
"You may go, and be sure that I am not bothered." The grin never left her target's face as he dismissed his guard.   
  
Sam took note of her surroundings as Asham plopped himself onto a feather bed in the center of the room. A purple, plush carpet gave easily beneath her slippered feet, and she had no doubt that it was very expensive. On the left side of the room was a doorway covered by the same type of curtain that they had entered through, and on the right, to Sam's relief, was a window leading onto the roof with sheer curtains billowing slightly in a breeze.   
  
Despite the window the room was fairly dim, with candles creating most of the light. Incense was burning on the bedside table, trailing a wisp of smoke and enveloping the space within a thick musky smell. She knew it was meant to create a sensual atmosphere, and she would have found it effective if she were not about to kill the man in front of her. On the back wall was another erotic tapestry, though more explicit than the one in the main hallway. It seemed to depict an orgy with men and women entwined in various positions, crying out in ecstasy.   
  
Her attention was pulled away from the uneasy feelings building within her.   
  
"Come now ladies don't be shy," the target opened his arms invitingly.   
  
Sam sent Amy a brief look. Logic would say that Amy should be pulling the targets' attention away from Samantha, but her plan was slightly different than that. Amy would only provide a slight distraction to minimize the chances that she would be harmed during the assassination. Samantha would be the one distracting Asham in order to move in close and hide her ulterior motives   
  
Amy had now taken off her outer covering and stripped to the skimpy clothing the assassins had provided them with. She moved onto the bed behind Asham before slowly kneading his shoulders.   
  
Sam took a deep breath, her eyes she kept downcast, and began to slowly unbutton her own covering. She didn't have to have sex with this man, but she did have to convince him that she was a whore.   
  
The clothing that the assassins had given them reminded her of the belly dancers of her time. The top was maroon, with gold tassels dangling from the bottom that stopped just below her breasts. Her bottoms were black and covered no more than underwear would, and a sheer maroon scarf acted as a makeshift skirt. There was very little left to the imagination.   
  
"Now that is a sight to see!"   
  
Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she could practically feel the targets greedy eyes roving over her exposed body.   
  
Sam slowly began to walk closer, her eyes remained obediently trained on the ground. She could feel the hard knife sheathed in the band on her bottoms pressing firmly against her back as she walked. It gave her a small measure of comfort.   
  
She was now within reach of her target.   
  
"Now, why do your avert your gaze my new little nymph?" The target gently tilted her face up so that her eyes met his.   
  
They were not what she had expected. His eyes were much like the piercing gaze of her master, and were a similar golden-brown hue as well. It was unnerving. Though everything about this man and Altaïr were different it was as if he was sitting before her. She quickly averted her eyes, unable to hold his gaze while trying to ignore the heat pooling between her legs.   
  
With a bit of force Sam pressed her hand against her targets chest and pushed him to lie down on the bed. Asham showed no signs of protest and seemed quite glad that it appeared as if he would be bedded soon.   
  
Sam's blonde hair brushed against her target's chest as she crawled to straddle his waist. She would now be very close to his exposed throat. Asham's body responded quickly to her close proximity and Samantha gently brushed her hand down his chest and towards his pants. Amy then began to stroke his hair soothingly and whispered sweet words into his ear to keep him distracted.   
  
Asham slid his smooth hands up Sam's thigh and she quickly decided that this had already gone too far for her liking. She leaned forward slightly and grabbed his hand to halt it. Samantha gyrated her hips slightly, and the protest Asham was about to give died before leaving his mouth. A groan escaped him as she made herself grind on his erection in order to keep him distracted. Her right hand found the hilt of her knife behind her back and she slowly began to unsheathe it while sending Amy a quick look to notify her that she was about to act.   
  
Amy covered the targets mouth with her hand so that he could not call for help. Sam then pulled her blade from behind her back and pressed it to the man's neck. A look of sudden fear and realization crossed his face.   
  
Everything had moved quickly and no words were uttered as she sliced through the exposed flesh of the man's throat.   
  
Red instantly began to run from the deep cut and he began to choke on his own blood. Amy removed her hand to avoid getting the red liquid on herself as it began to run from his mouth. Sam watched in both horror and pride as the light faded from her target's eyes, leaving them devoid of feeling or knowledge.   
  
Sam let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding as she looked up to Amy. As a medical student, she didn't seem to mind all of the blood that stained the tan sheets, while Samantha willed herself to ignore the gore as she wiped her blade clean and sheathed it. The woman got off of the dead man and retrieved the white feather from the back strap of her top. Sam let out a sigh as she dragged the feather through her victim's blood and allowed the red to stain the purity of the feather. She suddenly realized how symbolic the simple action was.   
  
All seemed to be going well but it didn't remain that way for long. The curtain on the left side of the room had been long-forgotten, but now opened wide to reveal two women that were dressed in similarly revealing clothing. Conceivably some of Asham's other lovers.   
  
They instantly began to scream at the sight of the dead body and rushed to leave the room.   
  
"Shit," Sam mumbled.   
  
"And I had thought this was going so well," Amy agreed.   
  
One of the guards who had been standing watch behind the entrance curtain burst through it, surveyed the room for a sign of trouble, and quickly found it.   
  
Sam tucked the bloodied feather into her waistband and unsheathed her knife once more.   
  
"Abda!" The guard cried out the other's name as he drew his sword.   
  
Sam could hear footsteps from the other guard running down the corridor. She began to push Amy towards the window.   
  
"Listen, you are going to have to climb out the window while I keep them distracted," she mumbled.   
  
"What about you?" Amy whispered back, "will you be alright?"   
  
The other guard had now joined the first in the doorway and had drawn his sword.   
  
Another push had Amy onto the windowsill.   
  
"Use the gutter on the roof, the tile will be too slippery to run on. Get down on the streets as soon as you can and meet Malik at the rendezvous point and tell him what has happened. He'll think of something." Sam's orders for Amy had been given and her friend nodded, understanding that by staying she would be hindering rather than helping her friend.   
  
Amy departed carefully and Samantha was left in the room with the two guards and her recently deceased target.   
  
"Drop your weapon, whore!" One of them shouted.   
  
"Raise the alarm!" Cried the other.   
  
Sam swore again and debated going out of the window as well. It seemed a good enough plan as long as she led the two men in the opposite direction that Amy had gone.   
  
She made for the window and onto the roof while the guards dashed across the room to follow.   
  
On the roof, Sam could see that the sun was at its zenith and the streets were crowded. There was no way to avoid drawing attention now. Samantha grasped onto the ledge above the roof that led to a rounded spire.   
  
Carefully she pulled herself up and felt her arms protest at the effort. She made it onto the small ledge and began to edge counterclockwise around it. One of the guards looked up and noticed her. He sheathed his sword and began his ascent to the ledge to follow her while the other guard was lined up to do the same. Sam would have been glad that they were not attempting to follow Amy had she not been in such danger herself.   
  
Luckily, she did not have a poor master, and she made it to the other side of the roof in much better time than the guards. Unfortunately, though, they were not far behind. The gutter on the first tier of the roof was now much further away than it had been at the window, and Sam had to jump a few feet down in order to reach it. Her slippers were slick against the tiles that she had warned Amy of and she slid faster down them than anticipated. Once her foot struck the gutter she was thrown off balance.   
  
Three things happened simultaneously: Sam dropped the only weapon that she possessed at the moment, she was barely able to catch hold of the ledge of the gutter with her hands before plummeting to the ground below, and the first guard made it to the edge of the spire.   
  
Sam saw that she could either climb back up onto the roof with the guards, or attempt to land safely on the ground. There were no guards to be seen on the ground so it seemed the better option. Samantha took note of a windowsill in between the distance of where she was and the ground. If she could catch onto it she would be able to safely drop the rest of the distance to the ground.   
  
Catching onto the windowsill was lucky indeed, but jarred her right arm and nearly made her lose her grip. She was almost positive that she had heard an unpleasant pop. This aside, she hastily dropped onto the street and landed on her feet.   
  
The guards on the roof did not wish to attempt what the woman had just done, and therefore took to shouting to attract attention from the city guards.   
  
"Guards! That whore is a murderer!"   
  
Sam groaned. They had caught the attention of the city guards and one simple mission had already turned into a fiasco.   
  
Samantha looked back to see three guards in padded armor running to catch her. A few crates were stacked perfectly next to each other and she made her way up them as if they were steps. The novice then jumped a small gap between the crates and a horizontal post jutting from the side of the building and then to another one.   
  
The guards were quick to follow but Samantha was now near the flat top of a building and she could see a roof garden in the distance in which to hide in. It was almost too perfect.   
  
Sam nimbly jumped and caught the ledge of the roof with her left hand, to spare any further injury of her right arm, and pulled herself up with both hands. The guards were a bit slower to follow this time and Sam got a head start on the roof and took off at a sprint.   
  
She was now running for her life, and the guards were left behind. Samantha dodged another group of crates on the roof that further masked her from the sight of the guards. She was now mere feet away from the rooftop garden. She would make it. Sam jumped into the wooden box and pressed herself to the floor, attempting to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She held her breath as a breeze fluttered the green material that shielded her from the sight of the guards. Sam could hear the sound of boots approaching.   
  
"Where could she have gone?" Samantha could hear the voice of a guard ask, his silhouette and two others were outlined on the fabric. Had she not been in danger she might have chuckled at the stupidity of them.   
  
The three men stood there for a moment more.   
  
"Come, let's ring the guard tower bells and be done with it. She will be caught eventually," one said and the others agreed.   
  
The sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears and Sam relaxed her tense muscles and breathed out a deep sigh. That had been much too close.   
  
As the adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins wore off her right shoulder began to throb painfully and her conscience began to descend upon her. Sam rose into a sitting position and pulled out the bloodied feather. She had not noticed before that she also had blood on her hands.   
  
Who was she to be playing God and taking the life of another human being? She was fate itself, and it scared her. Samantha knew she had killed for a good reason, but she was also smart enough to know that that was how many people justified their wrongdoing.   
  
Sam didn't know how long she had been sitting in the rooftop garden thinking, but it must have been at least an hour or two. She hadn't noticed the sound of footsteps on the roof and was therefore startled when the curtain was pulled aside.   
  
With a yelp of surprise Samantha scrambled backwards and away from her attacker. She relaxed and returned to her sitting position when she noticed it was Altaïr standing in front of her. He had donned his assassin's robes again and she could no longer see his face.   
  
"Are you hurt novice?" The assassin's voice was like ice.   
  
Sam didn't answer right away and Altaïr quickly crawled into the cramped space of the garden and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him.   
  
"I asked if you were hurt," he growled.   
  
Samantha pushed his hand away and turned her eyes away from his and towards the green curtain, this scene was almost too reminiscent of the moment she had shared with her target.   
  
However, Altaïr did not take kindly to being ignored, especially when he was attempting to care for his student. He roughly grabbed Sam's right shoulder, but quickly released her when she cried out in pain.   
  
"You've injured your arm."   
  
"It's nothing." Sam didn't want to make a big deal out of it right now. Altaïr's eyes regarded her with a cold gaze that made her feel like he didn't even truly care if she was injured. She was quickly losing her patience with him and stood so that their conversation could be brought to a close and they could return to the bureau.   
  
Altaïr's hand on her wrist stopped her as she rose. "Are you okay?"   
  
"We've already covered this, let's go."   
  
"Not physically, novice, I know what killing a man can do to a person. You forget that I too have gone through the trials which you are now facing." He did not move his hand from her wrist and she could have sworn that his expression grew softer.   
  
"Yes, well that is for me to deal with " she mumbled sourly.   
  
"Do you still believe yourself capable of taking more lives?" The question didn't seem like it was asked unkindly, but Altaïr's sudden interest in her wellbeing was off-putting to say the least.   
  
"Killing these men means benefiting the communities in these cities and stopping tyranny where otherwise it would go unchallenged," Sam recited what she had been telling herself constantly since killing her target, as if it would somehow justify her actions. So far it was working.   
  
"Yes," the assassin agreed.   
  
"Then, yes, I will be able to take more lives." Samantha knew that killing these men would put an end to some of the suffering of the less fortunate. She also knew that it would be thankless and grueling but she was still determined to make a difference.   
  
Altaïr squeezed her wrist gently before releasing it. "You will do well, novice."   
  
Samantha couldn't help but smile. "Was that encouragement?"   
  
"Take it as you will, but just know that it only gets more difficult from here."


	12. Chapter 12

It had been a month since the group had come back to Masyaf after killing Asham.   
  
Samantha's days were full of training, but she was enjoying almost every moment of it. She could feel her body getting stronger and things that once would have exhausted her barely made her break a sweat. The only thing that she didn't enjoy was every moment when some of the men would make sexist comments or attempt to degrade her, which happened often.   
  
For Altaïr the month had not been wholly unpleasant.   
  
Samantha still had much to learn, but she was catching onto most of his lessons quickly. More quickly, in fact, than he had ever imagined. It was as if she was born to fight with a sword. Whenever she was placed in the ring with one of the men she usually bested them. Granted, Sam was obviously pushing herself in order to prove her worth.   
  
If there was one thing he admired about her it was that.   
  
He and his novice now sat in the bureau of Damascus, the very same that he had first taken her to when he had found her being chased by guards.   
  
The memory brought up many different feelings that he had been previously unaware of. How quickly he had rushed to her aid even though he knew nothing about her, how much she had grown as a fighter and, more importantly, as an assassin since then. However, she had much more to do before she could even hope to be considered a fully-fledged assassin. She would need much more training, more assassinations, and more sacrifice. This was part of the reason why they were now back in Damascus together. For the past two weeks his novice had been shadowing him during missions, that way she would learn new techniques from him while also learning to be unseen and unheard while she followed him.   
  
As he sat within the bureau his mind began to wander back to when they had returned to Masyaf after Samantha's first official test of loyalty.

* * *

  
The assassin was grateful that the journey back to Masyaf had been uneventful. He was also glad that he no longer had to share his horse with his novice, as they had gotten a horse for both Sam and Amy in Damascus.   
  
Even so, he wished for a bit of excitement. Altaïr did enjoy the thrill of hunting down his targets and taking their lives.   
  
He glanced over at Sam from underneath the cover of his hood. It was just beginning to grow dark and they were making their way uphill towards the citadel on foot; Amy and Malik were walking some ways behind them. Altaïr doubted she would be able to push aside many of her emotions as he had chosen to long ago. Sam's hood was down and he could see her smile as they got closer to the fortress. She was so fickle.   
  
One moment the woman was sad, the next angry at him, and then she would tease him. It was maddening. He wondered if all women from her time were like this.   
  
"Should I meet with Al Mualim?" he barely heard Sam ask.   
  
"If he is awake we will know, if not it can wait until morning," he forced himself to look where he was walking rather than at his novice.   
  
The two arrived in the entrance hall of the citadel. The study where Al Mualim usually stayed was empty, indicating that he had retired for the evening.   
  
"Oh well," Sam shrugged and noticeably winced as her shoulder twinged painfully.   
  
"Hey, Sam, I'm off to bed," Amy said and waved to her friend as she departed.   
  
Altaïr watched as his friend turned to them.   
  
"I shall escort Amy to her room. Goodnight, Altaïr, Samantha." Malik nodded his head to them and followed Amy to her quarters.   
  
"I guess we should rest too," Sam suggested, "I assume you plan on training tomorrow?"   
  
"Not until you have someone look at your arm," he replied and headed for the infirmary gesturing for her to follow.   
  
"If you are concerned about me I may die of shock," he heard Sam joke from behind him.   
  
Altaïr rolled his eyes, "Do not mistake my concern for caring, we have much work to do in order to further hone your skills."   
  
It was Samantha's turn to roll her eyes, although the movement went unseen by him.   
  
They arrived in the medical wing. No one was in the immediate room so Sam hopped up on the wooden table, grinding her teeth as the movement jarred her arm.   
  
The assassin looked everywhere but concluded that Anass must have retired early to his quarters.   
  
"No one is here. We will have Anass check your arm in the morning."   
  
Sam frowned, "My arm really hurts, could you just look at it?"   
  
"I suppose so," he agreed after mulling the idea over for a moment.   
  
Sam had already begun to unbuckle the belts around her and had her tunic over her head before he could stop her.   
  
He quickly averted his gaze and felt heat creep up on his neck. Altaïr was no stranger to women, but it was Samantha, and she was his student.   
  
"Novice, what are you-"   
  
"Oh come on, you act like you're a hormonal teenage boy," Sam teased, "just look at my shoulder."   
  
Altaïr breathed deeply and walked over to Samantha. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders and covered them. He gently brushed her hair aside from the area with the back of his knuckles and felt her heated skin against his. He was glad for the wrappings around Sam's torso and the pants that she still wore. At least they would both retain some decency.   
  
He sucked in a sharp intake of air as he looked upon her shoulder. The skin there was inflamed and swollen, a sharp contrast from the creamy pallor of the rest of her.   
  
"What did you do?"   
  
"I fell from a roof and caught myself on a windowsill, I'm pretty sure I heard a crack," she answered.   
  
Altaïr gently pressed his calloused fingertips to the swollen area and Sam gritted her teeth against the pain.   
  
"Does this hurt?" He asked and attempted to lift her arm until it was parallel to her body. Her arm stopped about halfway there.   
  
Samantha was now whimpering at the pain that he was causing.   
  
"I believe you have dislocated your shoulder. I should put it back," he replied simply, it had not been the first time he had seen this happen.   
  
Sam's eyes locked onto his, darkened in the low lit room.   
  
"Will it hurt?"   
  
"Yes, but we cannot leave it like it is." Altaïr grabbed a piece of leather and handed it to her, "You can bite onto this."   
  
"How does this work?"   
  
"Here," he guided her onto her feet and lead her to a contraption on the other side of the room, "sit here."   
  
The novice did as she was told and sat in the wooden seat while the assassin went to work strapping her arm onto the odd rack.   
  
Altaïr waited until Sam had put the leather into her mouth and began to crank on a wheel that would set her arm back into place.   
  
His novice's face contorted in pain as she bit down hard on the leather strip. He was remorseful that he was forced to cause her so much pain, but what had to be done would be done. Quite suddenly there was a sickening pop and Samantha cried out against the leather and spit it out of her mouth. Hastily Altaïr undid the straps once more which allowed Sam to cradle her arm against her chest.   
  
"You sure do know how to cause me inordinate amounts of pain," she growled and wiped tears away that had formed in the corners of her eyes.   
  
"Forgive me, it had to be done," he apologized as he felt the joint of Samantha's shoulder to be sure that the bone had gone correctly back into the socket, luckily it had.   
  
Sam lifted her arm and it rose all the way up without resistance.   
  
"Better?" Altaïr asked as she rose to her feet.   
  
"Very sore, but much better."   
  
"That's to be expected. Your shoulder should be bruised and swollen for about a week or two, but other than that you should be fine," the assassin explained as he blew out the only remaining candle in the room and exited.   
  
Samantha pulled her tunic back over her head and gathered up her belt in the darkness. "Do I still have to train tomorrow?" She asked as she left the room and found Altaïr in the hallway.   
  
"Of course, we will not do free running, but you could use some practice with your blade."   
  
"Wonderful," she grumbled, "I can feel the humiliation already."   
  
"I do not see why you complain about sparring," the assassin commented as the two headed towards each of their rooms, "you have been doing quite well."   
  
"Maybe for a novice," she mumbled sourly.   
  
Altaïr nearly laughed, "You are a novice, skills do not come within a day, they require much practice."   
  
"Don't remind me," she groaned.   


* * *

  
Altaïr was shaken from his thoughts by Samantha tapping him on his shoulder. He looked to find her sitting directly in front of him on the floor; he must have been deep in thought for the woman to have sat there without him noticing her.   
  
"What are you smiling about?" she asked with a smirk.   
  
The assassin did not realize that his face had gone into a slight smile whilst he was recollecting that day. He shook his head indicating it was nothing.   
  
"Oh whatever," she waved him off, "I'll never find out anything from you, will I?"   
  
He shrugged, not bothering to voice a response. Already he was becoming more comfortable around her than he thought he would. So comfortable that occasionally he would lax his guard, something he was starting to deem unwise.   
  
"So you have a mission today then?" the novice asked happily, she loved to be able to follow Altaïr around and watch him as he performed his unerring assassinations.   
  
"Later this evening, yes."   
  
"Good," Sam hopped to her feet, eager to get as much rest as she could until then, "I'll be in my room if you need me!"   
  
"Highly unlikely," Altaïr grumbled as he closed his eyes and rested his head upon the hard wall behind him.   
  
Sam sighed contentedly as she lounged back on a stack of soft pillows in her room. She was happy to get these next few hours to rest. It felt as if life just kept getting more hectic and busy, making these cherished moments of peace prominent within her mind.   
  
The woman's thoughts slowly drifted to her master. It still bothered her not knowing what was going through his mind. What was he smiling about anyways? He never smiled unless it was to smirk condescendingly at her.   
  
Damn her curiosity.   
  
She ran through scenarios in her mind of what he could be smiling about. Maybe about her face when he told her what the leap of faith was, or the fact that she would eventually have to have one of her fingers chopped off. But that was absurd. Altaïr never thought about anyone but himself. 

Sam had to admit, from what she had seen of him, the assassin was handsome. But so was Malik and Kadar, what made him so special? Was it because he was spending almost every moment of the day with her to train her? Was it because of those times where she would catch him looking at her? Those moments were brief, but did not go unnoticed.   
  
Maybe he wasn't thinking about her at all.   
  
She huffed in frustration. There was no way Altaïr had a single romantic bone in his body, especially not for her.   
  
She thought about Amy and Malik for the briefest of moments and her chest felt heavy with envy, and then remorse. Sam was envious that Amy had Malik to stand by her side for anything, both as a friend and a newfound lover. She was ashamed that she was envious of her friend being happy. Samantha had to admit she often grew lonely and tired of being seen only as "Altaïr's novice". But she knew that it could only get better from here. Even if she was stuck in this time for the rest of her life there had to be somebody that she could find to love her.   
  
Then again, she reasoned, love is for fairytales and children. Life was no fairytale. Their little journey into this time had proved that much.   
  
Thinking back to Amy, she wondered what her friend was now doing. Samantha had left in a rush to leave for Damascus and barely got a chance to wish her friend goodbye. It seemed that both Sam and Amy's duties were beginning to separate the previously inseparable friends.   
  
With a stress-laden sigh Sam rolled onto her side and decided that she would try to get what sleep she could. She would need to be as alert and rested as possible for her shadowing of Altaïr.   


* * *

  
Amy was in Masyaf, slowly pacing back and forth in her room. She was constantly on edge whenever Samantha went on missions with Altaïr.   
  
Her pacing continued for a few minutes until Malik burst into the room, nearly giving the poor woman a heart attack.   
  
"Malik! You scared me, what's wrong?" She questioned, noticing the sweat beaded on his forehead and the worried look in his eyes.   
  
"You are needed in the medical wing. An accident has occurred and Anass requests your assistance."   
  
"Right," Amy's training in medical school had given her enough experience to know that panicking would do her no good. Instead, she ran to the main treatment room with a calm countenance, Malik on her heels.   
  
She flung open the door to reveal Anass, his tunic bloody, standing over a young man on the long wooden table. The man was nearly passed out from pain, and his face drained of most of its color due to blood loss.   
  
Amy quickly pulled on the apron handed to her by an underling and tied it to avoid getting blood on her clothing. "What happened?"   
  
"A training accident, we may have to amputate his leg."   
  
Amy assessed the damage done to the man's thigh. His femoral artery had been cut by a blade and he was quickly bleeding out. It didn't look good.   
  
"No!" the man screamed, "I can't lose my leg! I'm an assassin! It is my life."   
  
Amy looked at the man sympathetically; if she didn't act fast he would lose more than just his leg. She was instantly reminded of Sam.   
  
"I will do the best I can," she assured him.   
  
"Alright, I need boiling water, a needle, and wool thread now!" Amy immediately took on the head role.   
  
The woman gave the man a piece of leather to bite on while Anass got to work with the underlings. Amy pressed her fingers into the man's wound and began searching for the pressure where the artery was bleeding out; after a minute her fingers were slick with blood and she had a hold on it.   
  
"Where is that thread?" she demanded.   
  
"Here," Anass handed her a length of the thread.   
  
"I need you to get a tight hold on the femoral artery that I'm holding or else it will retract back into the wound," she ordered the older man.   
  
Once she was sure his hold would not slip she quickly fashioned a knot around the artery so that it would stop bleeding.   
  
"Alright, that should give us a bit of time. Is that water boiling?"   
  
"Yes," one of the underlings answered.   
  
"Good, put a good amount of thread into it to help sanitize it." Amy told the younger boy and proceeded to stick her fingers into the wound to find the other end of the artery.   
  
"Okay," she said once she had a good grasp on it, "Anass I need you to bring the two ends of the artery together so I can try to sew it up. You two," she barked at the underlings, "get materials ready to cauterize the wound once I'm done."   
  
Amy threaded the needle and began to work meticulously in sewing up the artery, which was quite large. By now the poor man had passed out.   
  
"Alright," Amy said as she untied the knot and allowed blood back through the artery, "that should hold."   
  
"Here," one of her helpers said, "the rod is hot."   
  
Amy quickly washed the blood from her hands and put on a pair of thick leather gloves. "You two need to hold him down, there's a good chance he will wake up from the pain."   
  
Once the two had taken their place on either side of the man Amy grasped the red-hot metal rod in her gloved hand and pressed it to the large wound. The man struggled against the two other men holding him down and screamed in agony.   
  
"Hold him still!" She yelled harshly as she continued the cauterization of the wound.   
  
The putrid smell of burnt flesh filled the air in the room and Amy wrinkled her nose. Once the wound was closed completely the woman let out a deep breath and set the bloody rod into a cold water basin.   
  
"I have never seen such methods," Anass breathed in disbelief, "we would have normally amputated the leg and then cauterized it."   
  
"Well now he can keep his leg, and more importantly his life, granted that his leg doesn't get infected," Amy told the older man while washing her hands once more.   
  
Before she could dry her wet hands she felt arms wrap around her waist and twirl her around, warm lips attacked hers. After a few seconds Malik placed the woman back on her feet. The room was in disbelieving silence, but once a few minutes had passed Anass' face broke into a smile.   
  
"Go and rest," he told Amy and patted her on the shoulder, "you have helped tremendously today."   
  
Amy smiled up at the older man and removed her smock. "Okay, well his wound will begin to blister so a poultice should be made for that," she told Anass as Malik began to pull her from the room by her hand, "and be sure to drain the excess pus and blood from it!" she called.   
  
"You were remarkable in there," Malik said as he looked down at her affectionately.   
  
Amy flushed, she had forgotten that he was there and had been completely wrapped up in her work. The assassin led her to a secluded hallway and pressed his lips to hers again. "I never wish to be parted from you," he whispered as he traced her cheek with the back of his knuckle and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.   


* * *

  
Altaïr stood underneath the lattice of the bureau rooftop entrance gazing up at the sky. It was well past midday, and evening was quickly approaching, indicating that it was time to depart. The assassin checked his hidden blade deftly to ensure it was in proper working condition as he made his way to Sam's room. Upon reaching the door Altaïr decided it was time for another test. Soundlessly he pulled the wooden door open and a beam of light was allowed into the otherwise dark room. The light fell upon Samantha whose chest rose and fell gently as she slept.

Altaïr couldn't keep from hesitating a moment in the doorway. The sight of her so relaxed and vulnerable sent shivers through him. He strode forward into the room, his footsteps muffled by the decorative rug on the floor. With a soft 'shink' of metal sliding smoothly against metal, his hidden blade protruded from his bracers. The sound did not go unheard by his novice.   
  
Samantha was sitting up, panting, the dagger that had been underneath her pillow in hand.   
  
"I'm impressed," Altaïr said as he retracted his hidden blade and raised an eyebrow.   
  
Samantha lowered her knife and clutched her chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she gasped.   
  
"I was testing you, and you passed."   
  
Sam fell back onto her pillow with an exasperated sigh.   
  
"Do not fret novice, this shows how honed your senses have become," he told her as he offered her his hand to help her to her feet.   
  
"Well that's just fucking great," she mumbled sourly, not liking being woken up in such a manner for any reason.   
  
"Next time I might unsheathe my blade before I enter the room, perhaps you should better hone your senses," Altaïr mentioned as the two walked down the small corridor to the entrance of the bureau.   
  
"Don't you dare," she growled and glared sideways at him.   
  
The assassin chuckled, "Must you be so cross as soon as you wake up?"   
  
"Don't you even talk to me about being cross, because you, sir, are the king of it," Sam bit back as they scaled the wall to the rooftop.   
  
He did not reply, only continued smirking under the shadow of his cowl.   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Where are we going anyways?" Sam asked as they took off across the rooftops.   
  
"To a thieves den, there I will find a Templar named Rupert Murdock and end his life," Altaïr replied and headed west.   
  
"Sounds so exciting," she remarked sarcastically and yawned.   
  
Overall the Assassin's mission had been going well, that is, until his novice slipped up.   
  
He had snuck into the den easily enough, as there were many thieves entering and leaving at will. He had even gotten into the dining hall where the Templar was, but it was all for naught.   
  
His novice had been hiding in the wooden rafters, perfectly tailing him exactly as he had taught her. Until she had sneezed. Sneezed! Could she not contain herself enough to prevent from spoiling his mission?   
  
Thinking that it would go unnoticed due to the din within the hall he continued on to his target, but she had been spotted.   
  
"Assassin!" Came the cry of a man to his left.   
  
"Another!" Cried one to his right, finger pointed accusingly at him.   
  
Perhaps they should cease wearing uniform clothing.   
  
The Templar he had been agonizingly close to killing bolted from the spot.   
  
Altaïr groaned. "One mission, one simple mission!" he growled as he gave chase.   
  
He noticed Sam dashing across the rafters until they had made it out of the building where she dropped to the ground and sprinted to catch up with him.   
  
"Altaïr I'm-" Sam attempted to apologize as she caught up with him.   
  
"You ruin everything!" he interrupted.   
  
"It was dusty up there," she muttered defensively.   
  
The assassin ignored her and focused on his quarry. He was headed south, beginning to climb to the rooftops and they followed in suit.   
  
"He's making for the river," he noted to Samantha.   
  
"We'll catch him," she tried to assure.   
  
The Templar stopped as he reached the edge of the roof nearest to the waterway, his sword drawn. Samantha unsheathed her short sword from her back and Altaïr his long sword.   
  
Murdock swung his own sword, skillfully striking and parrying both Altaïr and Samantha's attacks without fault. He was much more skilled than the woman in both swordplay and stamina, and it was beginning to show. Sam's blocks were becoming slower, and her attacks sloppy. It was not long before Altaïr noticed his opponent's weapon heading for her ribcage, and her short sword was not coming up fast enough to parry it. The assassin lunged, taking the brunt of the blade upon his sword and saving Sam, but also putting him off balance. The Templar took advantage of his misfortune and pushed the assassin off the side of building, he himself trying to regain balance after doing so.   
  
Sam was relieved once she heard the splash of water that indicated Altaïr had not landed on the solid ground below. She recognized the opportunity of the off balance Templar and sunk her blade hilt deep into his neck, the opposite end protruding from the other side. She wiped her blade on the dying Templar's robes before replacing it in its sheath on her back. Samantha walked to the edge of the building, peering over the edge to search for her mentor, but saw nothing.   
  
"Altaïr!" she called, painfully aware that there were no telltale ripples disturbing the water had he surfaced.   
  
The sun was beginning to fade on the horizon, leaving trails of purple and red streaking across the sky.   
  
"You have to be kidding me," she mumbled as her heart began to race.   
  
Sam hastily unhooked her belt with her sheathed swords still attached and dropped them before taking a deep breath as she dove into the river below. The water was surprisingly cold, considering the climate. It took her a moment to get over the shock of the frigid water around her, but Sam quickly recovered and began looking around in the dark river for any sign of Altaïr.   
  
The search seemed fruitless until she saw a brief flash of white to her left. There was Altaïr, unconscious, and sinking quickly into the murky depths of the river. She realized that his thick robes and weapons were weighing him down and he would soon drown. Eyes narrowed with determination, Sam swam over to the assassin. Once she had reached him she gripped him around his waist and tried desperately to kick upwards. Her lungs were screaming for air and Altaïr's wet robes and well-toned body combined were heavy.   
  
She kicked more violently, her left arm moving in a constant arch, trying to get them higher. After much struggling Sam's head broke the surface of the water. Samantha gasped as warm air rushed into her lungs. Panting, she pulled Altaïr's body along with her to the ledge where the river ended and the street began. Gripping the side with her left arm, she braced her legs against the smooth bank and hauled Altaïr, with much effort, onto the street.   
  
"Okay, mouth to mouth, I've taken a class on that right?" Sam searched through her scrambled thoughts trying to remember how to do it. She was sure if Amy was here she would know.   
  
Samantha pushed back the hood that was clinging to Altaïr's head and placed her hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with her fingers under his chin. She brought her head down near his mouth, he wasn't breathing. Sam pinched the bridge of the assassin's nose and took a deep breath, pressing her lips to his. Altaïr's lips were cold, and she prayed that she wasn't too late.   
  
Samantha watched as his chest rose as she breathed into his lungs.   
  
She jumped as Altaïr leaned over, coughing up water. After a moment the assassin was panting, his head leaned back and his eyes shut tight.   
  
"Are you okay?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.   
  
Altaïr's eyes opened, his golden brown orbs taking in her appearance. It was dark now, and her long locks clung to her face and sopping wet tunic.   
  
"You saved me," he breathed.   
  
She smiled slightly, "Of course, I wouldn't just let you drown."   
  
Altaïr pressed his hand to his chest, breathing deeply as he did so. He had never come so close to death before. He had always had the advantage.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Samantha looked up at him, her eyes holding the slightest hint of surprise. "You're welcome, Altaïr."   
  
The two sat there for a moment, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing and the flow of the slow moving river next to them.   
  
Altaïr moved to his feet first. "We should dry off," he extended his hand for her to take, "it will do us no good to catch a cold."   
  
"Just let me go get my weapons first," Sam said as he hauled her to her feet.   
  
"Wait," he stopped her with a hand pressed on her shoulder, "the target, what happened?"   
  
Sam shrugged, "I killed him."   
  
"Did you?" he asked, surprised, as his hand lingered on her shoulder. "Good."   
  
Samantha nodded as he released her, noticing the way his eyes lingered on her face. She herself was unable to stop from also studying his face, one she rarely ever got to see.   
  
As the two walked to the bureau, both cold and dripping wet, a sort of understanding and mutual respect seemed to grow between them.   
  
Altaïr couldn't help but notice a sensation of lingering warmth on his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

Several months later, spring had come to Masyaf.   
  
Samantha woke up to the sound of rain upon her window. She lay in bed for many minutes, listening to the downpour with relish. She missed the rain, especially in this arid region. Gently, she removed the sheets from her body and stretched her arms high above her head. The sound of rain was soothing, and she felt peace wash over her. Samantha rose from bed to dress quickly in her uniform, but left her weapons off of her belt. Today she was determined to have a bit of fun. She pulled on her boots and was out of her room in a flash of white robes.   
  
Sam passed many of the men as she dashed down the hall, each sending her confused looks. Whether it was because she was running around or because they were still not used to her presence in the fortress, she didn't know. In a moment she arrived at Amy's door. Sam knocked twice. A few seconds passed and the woman could hear her friend getting out of bed and walking to open the door.   
  
"Amy!" Sam smothered her friend in a hug once the door had opened. She had arrived from a mission late last night and it had been over a week since she had seen her friend.   
  
"Sam!" Amy cried happily and returned the warm embrace.   
  
"Amy it's raining!" A joyous smile found its way onto the blonde's face.   
  
"I know! Do you have to train today?" Amy asked apprehensively.   
  
"I don't care, if Altaïr wants to train more it can wait. I'll be damned if I let a perfect day like this go by without enjoying it!"   
  
Amy smiled, "Playing in the rain?"   
  
"Of course!" Sam exclaimed, "It's been months since I've seen rain!"   
  
Both of them quieted for a moment, smiles faltering as they realized that they hadn't seen rain since they had arrived in this time.   
  
"Just give me a minute to get changed," Amy broke the silence, "I'll be right out!"   
  
Samantha stood alone in the hallway, leaning against the cool stone wall.   
  
Had it really been nearly half a year since their arrival here? Weeks passed and seemed only to be days. Being on the move and training constantly certainly made the time go by quickly.   
  
She had changed.   
  
No longer was she concerned about what clothes were in style or what new T.V. shows were coming out. Her thoughts were focused on Altaïr's next kill, or how to throw knives. Such things had obviously never seemed important until now. Amy was her only link to the future. She still tried to talk about what the celebrities had been doing before they had gone back in time, what books and movies were about to come out, or which foods she missed. The more Sam thought about it the more sick she felt. They had both disappeared out of the blue. Their families and friends would think they were dead.   
  
They would most likely never return.   
  
Samantha wasn't even sure that she wanted to go back. Life was much simpler now. She didn't have to worry about college, or where she would get her next paycheck from. It was just her, and her training.   
  
Then there was Altaïr. Slowly, she noticed he was being less of an ass to her. Berating her less, and encouraging her more. Perhaps he was even growing fond of her.   
  
The door next to her opened.   
  
"Alright, I'm ready!" Amy said cheerfully, coming out of her room with a dark blue dress on. It was floor length with long draping sleeves.   
  
"When did you get such a nice dress?" Samantha asked as she nudged her friend with her elbow.   
  
The other woman flushed, "I just thought that having a few might be nice."   
  
"I'm sure," her friend teased.   
  
"How have things been?" Amy changed the subject as they began walking down the hall, "I know the last time we talked you were complaining about your lack of a sex life since we've been here"   
  
"I'm too busy for that," Samantha waved her off. She had complained about it briefly after a hard day of training, thinking that sex would be a wonderful way to help her relax.   
  
"Oh, come on! There has to be someone," Amy urged.   
  
"I don't know, Amy, I really haven't thought about it. All of the men here don't exactly want to accept me, and I'm afraid that having sex will just make that worse. Besides, the only man I ever see enough to get to know is Altaïr." Sam sighed.   
  
"Well what about him?"   
  
Sam snorted derisively, "Him? That would require that he actually have feelings, and I'm under the impression that he doesn't."   
  
The two were now past the entrance hall and were exiting the cover of the building; Sam put up her hood to spare herself momentarily from the rain.   
  
"I don't think you give him enough credit," Amy told her seriously.   
  
Sam cast her friend a confused look, "What do you mean?"   
  
"I mean assassins are probably taught to suppress their feelings."   
  
"And how would you know that?"   
  
"I've just been thinking about it is all."   
  
"Malik told you something didn't he?" Sam deadpanned.   
  
"I'm not supposed to say," Amy cast her a sideways glance.   
  
They were now beyond the gates of the fortress, on the top of the hill overlooking the small town below.   
  
"Some friend you are," Samantha teased and kicked a puddle in the grass, successfully covering the bottom of her friends dress with water.   
  
"Are you kidding me?" Amy cried and kicked water back at Sam.   
  
The two friends chased each other and stomped in puddles for some time. Enjoying the freedom felt by romping around in the rain.   
  
Altaïr woke up later that morning, still exhausted by his late arrival the night before. His thoughts immediately went to the training he would have to do with Samantha that day. He groaned; the assassin wanted nothing more than to stay within the confines of his sheets.   
  
His mind was quickly pulled away by the sound of rain. In his opinion the storm was unseasonably early, it was not even time for the farmers to begin planting their meager crops. Altaïr rose from his pallet, moving slowly over to his window. Rain splashed against the pane and he could just make out the gray line of dark mountains in the distance. It was as if the back of a large beast rose from the very earth itself to blot out part of the dreary skyline. It had been awhile since it had rained there, and in all honesty he missed when the heavens would weep and allow the dry land to flourish. With rain always brought renewal.   
  
With one last look out of the window he turned to dress.   
  
Once he had finished, the assassin made his way out of his room. The hall was not crowded by any means and he passed only a few men, each nodding respectfully to him. He reached Samantha's room in no time at all and rapped sharply against the wooden door. There was no answer, and he knocked again yielding the same result.   
  
The assassin turned the brass doorknob and opened the door himself. The sheets on the pallet had been neatly folded and the clothing stand was empty. Weapons remained on their rack on the far side of the small room and the woman's bracers were set upon the only table present.   
  
He couldn't imagine what would have gotten her out of bed before he himself rose, or why she would leave all of her weapons in her room.   
  
Altaïr shut the door with a bit more force than was necessary. He headed to the training ground, pulling his hood up as he did. Upon arriving he saw the younger boys training with swords, instructed by Rauf. The other assassin noticed his presence before Altaïr had reached him and automatically pointed in the direction of the gates, already knowing who he was looking for. Altaïr changed his direction with a grateful nod towards Rauf; he wondered what business Samantha would have outside of the fortress.   
  
His question was quickly answered.   
  
He noticed the two assassins standing watch were next to each other and whispering. Altaïr approached them and followed their line of sight until his eyes fell upon his novice. Samantha's hood was down; her blond hair was unbound and trailed across her right shoulder. She was spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, with a look of utter joy on her upturned face. He had never seen her so happy.   
  
Altaïr then noticed she was completely soaked from head to toe, her robes clinging tightly to her body. The other assassins continued to whisper to each other, and he now knew what they were speaking about. He pushed past the other men roughly, an angry heat rising on the back of his neck and reaching his ears. The assassin stomped across the soaked ground to his novice.   
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding furious.   
  
Sam stopped spinning, her smile reaching her eyes. "Altaïr! It's raining!"   
  
"So I have noticed," he growled. "Why are you not ready for training?"   
  
"Come on, Altaïr! Would it kill you to not train for a day?" She smiled and grabbed his hands in hers, "Enjoy today, will you?"   
  
The assassin was caught off guard as she spun them both around, her small hands tightly clutching his rough ones.   
  
He wasn't sure what to do, so his reaction was to abruptly let go, the continued momentum causing Samantha to lose her balance and fall onto the ground. Altaïr was going to apologize, but before he had the chance his legs were taken out from under him with a quick swipe of Sam's foot. He fell into a puddle in a disheveled heap.   
  
Samantha laughed as she stood, "Careful Altaïr, it's pretty slippery out here."   
  
He did not share in her mirth. He was soaked, cold, and embarrassed at being taken so easily off of his feet. Anger boiled up in him once more. Before he could think rationally the assassin had tackled his novice to the ground, his hidden blade touching the skin on her neck. All joy had left her eyes to be replaced by fear and anger.   
  
His eyes were narrowed fiercely. "Can you refrain from acting like a child for once in your life?" he growled.   
  
"I was just..." she choked out, unable to complete her sentence. She was only trying to get him to have some fun, to enjoy the moment with her.   
  
"Altaïr!" Malik called angrily as he approached his friend.   
  
He had been sitting nearby under a tree with Amy the entire time, unnoticed by Altaïr. Malik roughly grabbed the other assassin by the back of his tunic, pulling him away and allowing Sam to sit up.   
  
Amy rushed over and helped her friend to her feet. "Are you alright?" she whispered as she led Sam away.   
  
Altaïr noticed the sad and hurt look in his novice's eyes as she looked back at him before departing.   
  
"What are you doing Altaïr?" Malik asked as he grasped the front of his tunic in his fist.   
  
He had no answer for his friend.   
  
"Samantha was only enjoying herself! She was trying to include you too! Did you even notice how she smiled at you? But no, you can't have that, can you?" Malik spat, "No wonder she believes you to be heartless!"   
  
"Why are lecturing me?" Altaïr growled as he pushed Malik away from him.   
  
"I'm your friend, Altaïr! Or do you not wish to have any? If you continue down this path you will lose my friendship, and Samantha's," Malik paused,"if you have not already."   
  
"Why should I care if I am in her favor?" Altaïr asked vehemently.   
  
Malik sighed, "When will you cease lying to yourself?” He forcefully pushed past Altaïr, leaving him to his thoughts.   
  
"Samantha, please stop walking!" Amy cried exasperatedly to her friend.   
  
Sam had rushed through the courtyard and through the halls until she neared her room. Upon hearing her friend's plea she slowed to a halt outside of her door.   
  
"Sam you know it wasn't your fault right? Altaïr he, well I don't know what he was thinking..." Amy attempted to console her friend.   
  
The woman watched as she turned to face her, eyes welling up with tears. Amy pulled her into a hug. "Oh Sammy," she breathed, "I'm so sorry. I can only imagine how stressful everything must be for you."   
  
Sam didn't answer, but continued to tremble as she fought back tears. She wouldn't let them fall though, she wouldn't let Altaïr win. He was an idiot and she shouldn't even care about him.   
  
Samantha let go of her friend. "I'm fine," she took a steadying breath, "really, I am."   
  
Amy frowned and folded her arms over her chest.   
  
"I'm going to dry off, but really, don't worry about me." Samantha assured and went into her room, closing the door firmly.   
  
Sam ran a comb through the tangles in her hair as she moved to look out her window. She silently wished that the day had gone differently, but it was still early. Noon had yet to come, so perhaps some good could still come to her. Samantha stripped and re-dressed in a dry tunic and pants. She would have to dry her wet clothes tomorrow if it wasn't raining.   
  
The rain that she had been so excited for had nearly stopped, but the sky was still dark and threatened that more was to come.   
  
By the time Samantha headed to eat lunch around noon a heavy mist had set in around the fortress. The women had cooked chicken and baked fresh bread, all of which she washed down with a cup of wine. It was delicious and by then she was starving. She still did not feel herself yet, and decided to visit her favorite spot- the terrace below the gardens. Samantha had not visited it for quite some time due to the fact that she was nearly always away from Masyaf lately.   
  
The gardens were especially busy today. Women bustled around performing daily chores and gossiping. A few eyes darted towards Sam as she passed and conversations continued at hurried paces. She ignored the women. They didn't accept her either, so there was no point in trying to talk to them. Sam made her way down the small flight of steps and plopped herself on the ground once she had reached the railing, crossing her legs in front of her. With a soft sigh she ran a hand through her hair, she had deeply missed the view of the surrounding mountains. Their peaks were now obstructed by mist, but their towering figures loomed above the surrounding land.   
  
Sitting there had a calming effect on her. She wished she could sit there for eternity. Without anyone else, without worries.   
  
Samantha had not noticed the hooded figures that had followed her since she had left the dining hall.   
  
A hot, searing pain suddenly travelled through her, and she cried out. Looking down, she noticed a slash in her tunic and blood leaking down from a deep cut near her collarbone. She gingerly touched the cut, numb at the sight of her own blood. Sam turned to see three dark figures standing over her, their faces shrouded in shadow. Suddenly, one of their hands shot forward and grasped a fistful of her hair. Sam cried out once more as the figure pulled her to her feet, half dragging her behind him into the courtyard of women. With one hand she grasped her hair, trying to ease the pressure pulling on her scalp. Her other hand was desperately searching for any weapon she could reach, but she had left all of hers in her room.   
  
The man had dragged her to the fountain in the center of the courtyard. She could see the women looking on in a mixture of shock and horror, but no one moved to oppose the men.   
  
Two pairs of hands grasped her arms and forced her to kneel in front of the fountain. Samantha was beyond confused, Masyaf was supposed to be safe. She could not shake free of the strong hands gripping onto her.   
  
"Let this be a lesson to all of you!" Shouted the voice of the third male standing above her to the crowd, "That the place of a woman is to be in the kitchens or in a man's bed."   
  
The voice continued as a hand was removed from her arm only to be replaced on the back of her head, roughly shoving it into the water of the fountain. The water level was now higher due to the earlier downpour and she was easily up to the base of her neck in the fountain. The intent of the three men was now clear.   
  
Samantha thrashed violently, trying to free herself of the hands that were holding her in place. The grips of the men tightened and her head was violently shoved further into the water. She could hear the muffled voice of the man as he continued to make his speech. By now her lungs were screaming for air that she could not give them. She could do nothing. Sam's mouth opened involuntarily and water flooded into it. Her thrashes slowly became less violent as she neared the brink of unconsciousness.   
  
Suddenly, she felt the pressure on her head removed and she was pulled out of the water. Samantha fell onto the stone of the courtyard, violently coughing water out of her lungs and gulping air as if she were a fish out of water. She lay on her side, listening to the sound of fighting that seemed to surround her. Darkness still threatened her vision, and she could barely make out the flash of a white tunic before her.   
  
The courtyard had quieted now, and all sounds of battle ceased. She felt her limp body being lifted by strong arms, but she didn't the strength to look up and see who had saved her. Sam's head lolled as she was carried, and she could not prevent herself from blacking out.   
  
Samantha awoke slowly, feeling warm sheets surrounding her body. She could hear voices in the room with her. One she identified as Altaïr, the other she hardly recognized as Arianna's.   
  
"Who did you say did this?"   
  
"Abbas and two other men."   
  
"She did not deserve this," came the woman's voice, farther away now.   
  
"I could not agree more."   
  
"I will leave you then, I do not know how much longer she will remain unconscious."   
  
She heard the door close and then footsteps approach the bed that she laid on. Sam was on her side, her eyes shut as she listened. The footsteps stopped next to the bed and she could hear the scrape of a wooden chair against the floor being pulled closer. A warm hand met the side of her face, and a calloused thumb ran across her cheek.   
  
What had come over the assassin who was caressing her so gently? Hours ago he had held his blade to her throat.   
  
Her eyes opened slowly, she blinked until her vision was no longer clouded. The warm hand remained where it was. Samantha took in the assassin before her. His hood had been pushed back and his face was revealed, she traced the scar that ran through the corner of his lips with her eyes. His dark brown hair looked as if he had continued to run his hand through it nervously until it was an untidy mess and stuck up in many odd angles. His golden brown eyes were trained upon her.   
  
She didn't know what to say. "Thank you for saving me from those lunatic men"? That didn't seem quite right, nor did it do the deed justice. Words were not enough and nor could she could form any with her chapped lips.   
  
His eyes seemed to bore holes into her, as if he knew all she was thinking. Altaïr leaned closer until his lips were pressed momentarily to her forehead. Samantha felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe.   
  
"I am glad that you are all right. Please forgive me for not coming to your aid sooner," were the soft words he spoke before rising and leaving the room.   
  
His warm hand was gone, his lips that had so briefly graced her forehead were gone, his face was gone.   
  
Yet a smile found its way onto Samantha's lips. Altaïr had revealed a chink in his armor.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continuous support! You may have noticed but I've been trying to keep posting about a chapter a week and I hope to keep that schedule.

It was found the next morning that Abbas had ordered several novices to aid him in attempting to kill Sam. They spent a fortnight in the fortress dungeons. The students had learned their lessons, but it was deemed by Al Mualim that Abbas' punishment was not yet over. For three weeks the high ranked assassin was forced to work in the kitchens, and for two of those weeks he was also in the laundry room.   
  
Abbas did not take the blow to his pride lightly, and rather than being humbled by the experience his contempt for Samantha only grew.   
  
The small wound Sam had received wasn't deep, so she and Altaïr were able to continue with assassinations as they normally would have. Neither of them mentioned anything to the other about what had happened in the recovery room, but it stayed in the back of their minds. Nothing hindered Altaïr, though, and his training was just as rigorous as it had been before. Samantha was no mere novice anymore, but had begun to best even Kadar and many of the other assassins of his rank. Al Mualim was impressed, and made note to Altaïr that she may soon rise from the rank of novice.   
  
Altaïr and Samantha had been in Masyaf for three days since their last mission though, much longer than they usually stayed in between assassinations.   
  
"I dunno," Sam spoke after taking a sip of her wine, "Altaïr hasn't said anything about a new mission at all."   
  
"That's weird," Amy commented as she tapped her finger lightly against her chin.   
  
The two women were seated at a long wooden table in the dining hall, eating their lunch languidly and chatting.   
  
"Not very."   
  
Sam noticed as her friend's face lit up with joy as Malik took a seat across from them.   
  
"How so?" she asked and rested her chin in her palm.   
  
"The trade caravans will be passing through Masyaf within a fortnight or less, most likely. I'm sure Altaïr would not wish to miss the festivities that will follow."   
  
"Really? Altaïr, festive?" Sam asked, her eyebrow raised in disbelief.   
  
"You would be surprised. When there is enough ale and wine going around many of the most hardened assassins will drop their blades to dance with the village maidens." Malik sent Samantha a sly wink and a grin in Amy's direction.   
  
"That would imply that they are maidens," Amy nudged Sam, "not dirt encrusted fighters!"   
  
The blonde pouted and ran her hand through her long dirty locks, still damp with the sweat she had worked up with training not even an hour ago. "It's not my fault I have to train every waking hour of the day!"   
  
"Perhaps a bath and a dress would suit you better during the festivities," Malik offered.   
  
"I could always ask Arianna," Samantha contemplated as she pushed around the sliced potatoes on her plate with a spoon.   
  
"I am sure she would appreciate you visiting," Malik agreed, "and to see you in a dress! She may faint in shock!"   
  
"Haha," Sam said mockingly, "we're all laughing, Malik."   
  
"Laughing about what?"   
  
Sam nearly choked on the potato slice she had just popped into her mouth, the sudden voice so close to her making her jump.   
  
"Kadar!" Malik greeted his brother with open arms as he took a seat next to him.   
  
"Brother, it is good to see you!" A grin stretched across the younger man's face.   
  
"Good to see you too!" Amy teased. Kadar had long known about his brother's relationship with her, so he had become almost like a little brother to her as well.   
  
"It has been awhile Amy, has this oaf been treating you well?" He asked and playfully punched his elder brother's arm.   
  
"Well enough," the copper haired woman giggled in response.   
  
"Quite a fight you gave me today Samantha." Kadar had turned his attention to the her.   
  
"Thanks," she smiled, "You nearly had me when I was backed against the fence."   
  
"Yet you always manage to slip away perfectly! No doubt due to Altaïr's training."   
  
"I guess so," Sam pushed several more potato slices around, feeling uncomfortable with all of the sudden praise.   
  
"Anyways," Malik interjected, "we were just speaking about the trade caravans arriving and suggested Samantha make use of a dress for the occasion."   
  
"That would indeed be a sight for sore eyes," said the younger brother sincerely.   
  
Sam could feel heat creep up on her neck and she decided that it was time to leave before this conversation got any more embarrassing. She didn't know why everyone had to make a big fuss about her wearing a dress; it wasn't like it had never happened before.   
  
"Well I won't get a dress if I don't visit Arianna," she stood abruptly, "Come on, Amy."   
  
Amy rolled her eyes and walked over to Malik placing a kiss on his forehead. "I'll see you soon, be sure to keep this one out of trouble," she said lightly as she ruffled Kadar's dark locks.   
  
"What's up with you?" The auburn haired woman asked as she caught up with her friend.   
  
"Nothing," Sam answered distractedly.   
  
"Don't lie to me," Amy teased.   
  
"I just don't know why Kadar is showing this sudden interest in me," she huffed. "I mean did you hear him? 'That would be a sight for sore eyes' I'm still the same person even if I put on a dress."   
  
"Yes," Amy admitted, "I know you are, but you know men. They're easily distracted by nice clothes on a hot woman." She winked at her friend, teasing her further.   
  
Sam rolled her eyes, but even as she did she recalled the first time she had seen the younger assassin in a romantic way.   
  
She had been sitting in the entranceway of the Damascus bureau and Altaïr had already retired to his quarters. Sam had been startled when a dark shadow had dropped down in front of her from the open hole in the lattice roof.   
  
"Kadar!" She greeted once she had recognized the man's face.   
  
It took him a moment longer to realize who had spoken to him, "Sam?"   
  
"Yes," she smiled, "or Samantha if you'd like. I don't think we've spoken since I was first introduced to you."   
  
Kadar laughed lightly and joined her on the floor. "To think I thought you were a man!" he exclaimed, "How wrong I was! You surprised everyone."   
  
Sam laughed. "Some people weren't too happy about it either."   
  
"I admire your courage," he told her sincerely, "very few women would even consider becoming an assassin."   
  
"Courageous or foolish, call it what you want," she joked and began feeling more relaxed around the man.   
  
"Foolish or no, you are being trained by one of the very best assassins. You must feel honored."   
  
Samantha rolled her eyes, Kadar idolized Altaïr a little too much. "Honored that the troll sleeping next door hasn't woken and tried to eat me yet is more like it."   
  
Kadar laughed, and she found that she liked the way his nose cutely scrunched up when he did.   
  
"Your jesting will only give him more cause to!" He jokingly berated her.   
  
"What can he do to me? I'm an assassin now remember?" She teased and threw one of the pillows at the assassin across from her.   
  
The pillow hit Kadar square on the nose and he blinked confusedly as it fell in his lap. The man the grabbed the pillow and looked up at her with impish delight written across his face.   
  
"Oh no," she warned him and shook her finger back and forth, "you are not going to start a pillow fight with me."   
  
Before Samantha could ready her defense the pillow sailed in the air towards her, she flinched away as it hit the side of her head. Moments later an all out fight had begun with the two assassins dodging and throwing pillows at each other. Eventually Sam felt a hand wrap around her wrist just as she was about to throw another pillow, but she found that the assassin who had just been on the other side of the small entrance was now in front of her. Sam looked up and her gaze met bright blue eyes staring back at her.   
  
They stood there for a moment, both slightly out of breath, and continued to study each other from their close proximity. The two seemed to realize at the same time what they had been doing.   
  
"You know, I think I hear Altaïr calling me," Samantha turned her head away as a blush reached her cheeks.   
  
"Yes, and, um. I should check in with the dai." Kadar released her wrist, also turning a shade of red.   
  
Both assassins turned to walk out of the room simultaneously and ended up getting stuck in the doorway with their combined width.   
  
"After you," Kadar stepped back.   
  
"Thanks," Sam mumbled, embarrassment lacing her voice as she rushed through the doorway and down the hallway to her room.   
  
"What about Altaïr?" Amy's question pulled Samantha from her thoughts.   
  
"How is it you manage to always bring him up?" Sam frowned. "Look, nothing has happened since that day in the infirmary. He's obviously not interested."   
  
"Not until he sees you in a dress." Amy said slyly.   
  
Samantha groaned at her friend's antics.   
  
"Arianna will do a great job, she always does," her friend reassured her. "Plus you know you don't have to go if you don't want to."   
  
"No, I want to go and have fun. I just don't want any drama, you know? ."   
  
The two approached the matron's door and Rana answered after they had knocked. "Can I help you?"   
  
"We were just wondering if we could get a dress made for Samantha." Amy said politely.   
  
"No," the younger girl answered, "my mother is ill and is indisposed at the moment."   
  
"Nonsense!" Arianna appeared behind Rana. Her appearance was haggard and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. "I've waited a long time for you to return! I had a dress made many months ago."   
  
Sam and Amy were welcomed into the home and sat on the provided cushions within the sewing room. They watched as Arianna searched through a chest, her hands visibly shaking as she did so.   
  
"Ah! Here it is, I absolutely love this dress. Come here, dear!" the older woman beckoned her over, "Change behind this curtain so we may see how it looks on you."   
  
The dress was pressed into the blonde's hands and she headed to change. She found that also within the pile of clothes was a cream colored corset, luckily it was not bone-crushing and uncomfortable. Rather, it only hugged her closely and supported her breasts in such a way that put her meager chest bindings to shame. She was reminded that she still had her bra stored away in her room, but the corset seemed more appropriate.   
  
Sam was at a loss for words that could possibly describe such beautiful needlework and craftsmanship. Her dress was a deep maroon color, hardly proper for springtime, but was richly embroidered around the draping sleeves and dipping neckline with gold thread.   
  
As Samantha gazed into the polished silver mirror her eyes welled up in tears. She had not felt this attractive since she had arrived in this time, even with her mussed up hair and dirt smeared face. Her hands shook slightly as she smoothed out the fabric.

Even at the best of times this still wasn't home, despite how much she just wanted to accept it and move on. Everything she'd had before was gone though, and she doubted that there would ever be a way to return.

She swallowed thickly and forced herself to stop thinking about it.   
  
"Samantha are you dressed yet?" Amy called.   
  
With a small sigh Sam pushed aside the curtains and strode forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.   
  
"I would ask one small favor of you before you depart," Arianna spoke softly to the two women as they stood on the doorstep.   
  
"Anything," Sam readily agreed.   
  
"My husband worries for my health, Amy, if you could maybe find out why I am so sick I would truly appreciate it."   
  
Samantha briefly wondered who Arianna's husband was, as she couldn't recall ever meeting him.   
  
"Of course," Amy put her hand lightly on the older woman's shoulder, "Sam and I owe you so much for the kindness you have shown us."   
  
"I love my daughters dearly, and you two as if you were my own."   
  
The younger women warmly embraced the elder, each mumbling 'thank you' and appreciative words.   
  
"I will meet with you tomorrow morning and see if I am able to help you at all." Amy told Arianna as they departed.

* * *

  
  
Nearly a week passed and news of the caravan's early arrival was spreading like wildfire through the town of Masyaf. Preparations began in a frenzy of bright ribbon, party tents, and last minute touches to anything shopkeepers in the small town wanted to sell to the traders. Though the bustle of everyone was exciting, Altaïr warned Sam not to stray from her training. She obliged, not wanting to argue with the assassin and risk spoiling the light mood that had settled even within Altaïr.   
  
Quite suddenly, in the middle of the second week, the trading caravan arrived and the merry-making began promptly.   
  
"Aren't you excited?" Amy asked, a huge grin plastered from ear to ear on her face.   
  
Samantha and Amy were in Sam's room getting ready for the festivities of the night. Each of them in dresses and with soft slippers on their feet.   
  
Amy wore a deep green dress, embroidered similarly to that of Samantha's. Her auburn hair had been pulled back into a neat bun by Sam and had a few flowers pinned into it. Samantha wore her red dress, blonde hair falling down her back in waves and a few locks were tastefully braided.   
  
She looked over to her friend and smiled warmly. "Of course I'm excited.”   
  
It hadn't been a lie. Samantha really was excited for a break and some down time after so many months of continuous training and fighting. Still, though, thoughts of home plagued her. As she followed Amy out of the fortress she vowed to let it go for the night. Homesickness could wait for when there wasn't a party to be had.   
  
As they passed the main gates and began their descent music could be heard floating up from the city below. The town was lit brightly with torches and candles, people were talking and laughing boisterously and sharing drinks over trade and tales of travels.   
  
Sam felt as if she couldn't get there fast enough. She wished to run down the hill and join everyone in their fun, but she forced herself to walk calmly down the winding path next to Amy, lest she ruin the dress Arianna had worked so hard to make for her. It was not very long before the two arrived at the base of the hill where an assassin still stood guard. Sam sent her friend a sly grin before lifting up her skirts slightly higher and darting towards one of the tents that had been set up.   
  
"Wait up, Sam!" Amy called over the music that had just picked up pace once more.   
  
Samantha rushed through throngs of people, dragging Amy with one hand and holding her skirts with the other to prevent herself from tripping. Vendors were shouting and people were laughing merrily in the tents. The biggest crowd, however, was towards the back of the tent that opened up to a compacted dirt dance floor. Right next to it drinks were being served.   
  
Being the first night of the revelry, drinks were being passed around to everyone without charge and were eagerly accepted.   
  
Sam and Amy were handed flagons of wine before they headed to find a spot at one of the many wooden tables. They spotted one on the far side of the tent that was empty and hurriedly claimed it as their own.   
  
Altaïr hadn't changed out of his uniform for the festivities. However, he did leave behind many of his weapons, other than a knife he had hidden. Never before had any major fights erupted during a trading caravan's arrival, and he had enough faith in his own skills and that of the assassins standing guard to sit comfortably with only a mere dagger.   
  
He sat at a long table next to Malik and Kadar, nursing his own pint of ale. He was not one for the loud conversations or courting that many of his fellows enjoyed during such events, and he liked it that way. Yes, he would sit here comfortably, enjoying the company of his friend next to him.   
  
"Have you seen Amy?" Malik was asking his younger brother.   
  
"Over there, and Samantha is with her!" The younger man pointed out the two women who were laughing together in the corner.   
  
Altaïr and Malik watched as Kadar hurriedly downed the rest of his ale and slammed his mug on the table. "I am going to ask Samantha to dance." Without looking back the cocky young boy strode forward towards the women's table.   
  
Malik simply rose an eyebrow at his friend.   
  
Altaïr glared down into the watery depths of his ale and downed a large gulp.   
  
Samantha and Amy laughed and joked, drinking every once in a while and feeling utterly carefree. It was the first time in a long time that they were able to relax together.   
  
"Hello, Amy, Samantha." The young assassin looked pointedly at the latter.   
  
"Hello, Kadar!" they chimed happily.   
  
"If I may steal Samantha away from you for awhile I would be most grateful. My brother is over there." Kadar added with a slight bow.   
  
"She's all yours!" Amy giggled and made her way through the crowd to Malik's table.   
  
"You look stunning," Kadar complimented as he offered her his hand.   
  
"Thank you," Sam flushed, "So where are you stealing me away to?"   
  
"To dance, if you'd like."   
  
"I don't know any of the dances," she pointed out.   
  
"I have faith in your ability to catch on quickly," Kadar joked as he grasped her hand and led her to the other couples dancing jovially just outside of the tent.   
  
Altaïr had a clear view of Samantha dancing with Kadar from where he was sitting. A grimace found its way onto his face each time their hands touched during their dance, and his grip on his poor empty tankard tightened each time he saw the young man steady her when she accidentally stepped on his foot. His stomach coiled tightly in jealousy. It should be him who was dancing with Samantha, but he had probably ruined any chance with her. Al Mualim had ingrained him with the idea that a woman was only a distraction for assassins, that is, until he himself had gotten married. Then the older assassin had allowed the men to marry and keep wives within the fortress.   
  
Women were a distraction, and this one was clouding his thoughts with everything she did.   
  
Altaïr stood up decidedly, his eyes sweeping the tables around him. At once he found his target.   
  
"Would you like to dance?"   
  
"You know, I've never noticed, but you have beautiful eyes." Sam said breathlessly as she twirled in step with Kadar. His bright blue eyes following her every move.   
  
The music was fast paced, consisting of some sort of string instrument and a flute. It had the dancers stomping their feet and dancing merrily.   
  
"And you've the most beautiful smile from here to Acre."   
  
The compliment made Samantha smile even wider. Her expression quickly fell when she saw who had exited the cover of the tent to join them on the dance floor. Her chest clenched tightly as Altaïr led a young woman by the hand to dance. She was quite pretty and wore a simple blue dress and a head covering that barely contained her dark locks.   
  
Samantha forced herself to look elsewhere and found that she was no longer enjoying herself. She felt sick to her stomach and her eyes continued wonder back to the hooded assassin.   
  
She would not be beaten. She had spent nearly six months training under Altaïr, and she would make him notice her.   
  
"Excuse me Kadar, there is something I must attend to," Sam told the younger assassin as the song faded to an end, "thank you very much for the dance."   
  
Samantha spotted Altaïr and walked determinedly towards him.   
  
"Excuse me," Sam said loudly, very nearly pushing the other woman aside, "but I'm going to have to steal this man away from you for the night."   
  
Without waiting for a response she took Altaïr by the hand and pulled him away from the dark haired woman. She should have felt bad about being so rude, but in all honesty all she felt was a sense of triumph.   
  
The assassin's hood was pushed back by the blonde before he could hide the smirk that had made its way onto his face.   
  
"What are you smiling about?" Samantha snapped as a slower tune began.   
  
"She was dull company anyways."   
  
"I only hope I am not so dull," Sam teased, her jealousy simmering down now that she and Altaïr were dancing.   
  
The song was much slower than the first. As the crowd began to settle and sway they moved along with it, every step in harmony with the others.   
  
"You always seem to keep me on my toes, so no, you are not." A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.   
  
"Don't lie, you like that I drive you crazy."   
  
Altaïr could not find an answer for her, and she didn't seem to care if he gave one. The light from a nearby torch played across her face and hair, the gold thread on her dress shimmering with fire at every movement of her body. The assassin had to look away in attempt to keep the heat finding its way onto his face at bay. He loved the way her hand felt within his, and how she would look up at him and smile when she thought he wasn't looking.   
  
The world seemed to melt around her, everything blending into the background except for her and Altaïr. The fact that she wasn't from this time didn't matter at that moment. Everything felt right. For the first time she had hope that she could truly be happy here.

All things come to an end, and so too did their dance. It was far sooner than either of them would have liked. The rest of the night the two spent sitting at the same table with their friends, but neither of them conversing with the other.   
  
Sam guessed it was early morning when she and Amy finally began the long ascent back up the slope to the fortress. Nearly halfway up she deviated from the main path to a separate slope. Without hesitation she plopped on the ground and stretched out on a patch of grass.   
  
"What are you doing?" Amy asked, exhausted.   
  
"I just thought I'd look at the stars for a bit, will you stay?"   
  
"Sure," Amy conceded.   
  
Not even a minute later the auburn haired woman noticed Altaïr making his way up the main path and gestured him over before leaving.   
  
"You know Amy," Samantha started, not knowing the assassin had taken her friends place, "I remember a lot of astronomy. You see those three stars right there?" She pointed upwards.   
  
Altaïr did not reply, but looked quietly from where he stood at the area she had pointed to. After he had gotten a good look his eyes trailed down to where Samantha was laying on the grass, her blonde hair illuminated by moonlight and splayed around her.   
  
"That's the Summer Triangle," she continued, not waiting for any response. “The three stars are Deneb, Vega, and Altaïr."   
  
His name piqued the assassin's interest further.   
  
"You know, he's not the best dancer, but I really enjoyed tonight with Altaïr." She was only teasing about the first part and giggled even as the words left her mouth.   
  
"So I am a bad dancer then?" he asked as he sat down next to Samantha.   
  
"Altaïr!" She cried out in surprise and sat up quickly.   
  
"Peace," he chuckled, "I did not mean to startle you."   
  
Altaïr joined her on the ground and Sam laid back down, her heart racing a mile per minute. She forced herself to look back up at the sky.   
  
Silence overtook the two for many moments before Sam had the courage to look over at the assassin lying next to her.   
  
Her eyes were met with golden brown ones. "You know the stars are much nicer to look at," she attempted to get his attention off of her.   
  
Altaïr snorted and looked away for a moment, "Hardly."   
  
She held his gaze once more. "If there is one thing I don't understand about you, Altaïr, it is why you seem like you actually enjoy my company every once in a while, and then end up pushing me away."   
  
Altaïr turned his gaze back up to the sky, as if searching the heavens for an answer.   
  
"I do not know," he breathed, "perhaps it is because I do not wish to be distracted."   
  
"Is that really all? I just want the truth. Do you have any feelings for me? At all?" Sam continued to stare at the assassin, hoping he would look over at her.   
  
It was several long minutes before she received an answer.   
  
"Yes," the Altaïr mumbled, nearly inaudibly.   
  
His eyes were still trained on the pinhole stars that poked through the heavens, wondering what he was thinking by telling her of his feelings. The stars were replaced with a face, pale and cold-looking against the black backdrop of the sky. His eyes closed slowly as her soft lips converged on his. For a moment the assassin even enjoyed the tender kiss.   
  
However, his thoughts took a dark turn. In a few seconds all was finally sorted out in his mind. His desire had grown too great; jealousy had even worked its way into his heart earlier that evening. He should not feel jealousy for any of his fellow assassins. They were a brotherhood, with ties of blood and bonding. Samantha had sent all of those ideals crashing down. The whispering voice in the back of his head told him that she was conniving and was only trying to prevent his success.   
  
He saw only one way that this path would lead him, and it was not to becoming a master assassin as he had always dreamt of. For a moment he wondered if that was what he still wanted even now. An image of having a family and living a simple life invaded his mind. That thought alone was enough for Altaïr to throw any of the emotions that he retained away. She was filling his head with all of these thoughts and he would not have it.   
  
He said nothing as he broke the kiss and pushed Samantha off of him. She landed unceremoniously on the ground. The assassin stood and, without looking back, walked away.   
  
Samantha sat on the ground a mixture of confusion and devastation etched onto her face. A moment later what had happened truly sunk in. He hadn't even explained anything to her, and the one moment where she thought Altaïr had brought down the walls around his heart was shattered. Samantha pulled her knees up to her chest as a sob wracked through her body. Her hands trembled violently as she grasped a fistful of her dress. Tears began to fall down her face. She was embarrassed and felt utterly stupid for ever trusting Altaïr.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter officially starts the beginning of the game timeline. I'm going to try to not use too much of the dialogue from the game but it's pretty much unavoidable at parts. Please enjoy and comment!

Sam barely slept that night and had made it to her room out of sheer force of will. Needless to say, she was not happy when a knock came at her door very early the next morning.   
  
"Go away!" She yelled loud enough so that whoever was on the other side of the door could hear.   
  
"Wake up, novice," was the reply from the other side of the wood.   
  
"Go away, I don't want to talk to you!" Sam yelled louder as she sat up and glared at the door.   
  
"I have no need to speak with you. We are required in Al Mualim's study."   
  
Samantha groaned loudly wishing that she could just crawl under a rock and away from the man outside her door. Unfortunately duty called. She pulled herself out of the covers and dressed quickly before tying her hair back out of her face.   
  
Altaïr waited less than patiently outside of Samantha's door. After the past nights events he had changed; he felt colder, more distant. He was set on the path that would make him a heartless killer, one that he believed would allow him to become a master assassin.   
  
The door opened slowly and he glanced at Samantha. He noticed the new dark circles beneath her eyes and her disheveled appearance. His novice barely glanced at him for a moment before roughly pushing past him, her shoulder jarring into his.   
  
Samantha continued walking. If Altaïr was going to be a jerk then so could she.   
  
Within a few minutes she was climbing her way up to Al Mualim's study. Sam immediately noticed upon arriving that Amy and Malik were also present.   
  
"Good, I'm glad you two have arrived." Al Mualim's voice pulled Samantha's attention to behind the large desk that the head assassin worked at.   
  
"We would have been here sooner had my novice not taken so long."   
  
Sam's blood was already boiling and she pulled her hood over her head so that the shadow would conceal her rage.   
  
"No matter," the head assassin said calmly, "I have a very important mission for all of you."   
  
Sam wondered why Amy was being brought into another mission, but her question was quickly answered.   
  
"I know that I have said that Amy would not follow you on another mission, Samantha, but under these circumstances..."   
  
"If I may, what circumstances, master?" Malik asked; he did not want to endanger Amy either.   
  
"I believe that the Templar's have found a great treasure, an ancient artifact."   
  
"What does that have to do with me?" Amy asked curiously.   
  
"The artifact is something very similar to the sword that brought you here. This mission is of the utmost importance, we must get this relic before the Templars do."   
  
"Where is it?" Malik questioned.   
  
"Workers have unearthed it in Solomon's Temple. You must leave immediately. Kadar will be waiting in the stables and will also accompany you."   
  
Had this mission not been with Altaïr she would have been thrilled. To find another item similar to the sword that had brought them to this time was a godsend. Maybe she could finally return home.   
  
"I would suggest having Samantha and Amy remain here, they will hinder the mission," Altaïr advised his master.   
  
Samantha hated the assassin standing beside her, it boiled in her blood and made her hands quake with anger.   
  
"No, Samantha has learned much under you, Altaïr, and has just as much cause to go as you do. Amy, it is up to you if you wish to go or not." Al Mualim sounded slightly angry, as if tired of Altaïr questioning him.   
  
"Since Sam is going I would like to go." Amy told the master assassin after a moment of silent deliberation.   
  
"Very well, safety and peace." Al Mualim dismissed them as they gave him a slight bow. "Godspeed," he added softly as they turned to leave.   
  
The journey to Jerusalem was long, taking three days, but it did not take long before Amy and Malik noticed a change in their two friends.   
  
Samantha refused to speak about what had happened to Amy, so Malik was left to confront his friend.   
  
"Altaïr!" Malik greeted as he matched the pace of his horse with that of the other assassins.   
  
Altaïr only grunted in response.   
  
"What has been troubling you?"   
  
Silence was Altaïr's response. Knowing that he would get little out of the assassin he skipped straight to his real question. "What has happened between you and Samantha?"   
  
Malik could see the glare his friend gave him from beneath his hood. "That is none of your concern," he growled.   
  
"My friend, any concern of yours is a concern of mine," Malik said as he placed his hand on Altaïr's shoulder.   
  
The other assassin pulled Fakhir to a quick stop and Malik copied his actions. Sam, Amy, and Kadar continued trotting not far ahead.   
  
"You truly think me your friend? I am your superior, nothing more." Altaïr spat.   
  
Malik was taken aback by his harsh words. "What has happened to you?" he breathed softly.   
  
Altaïr let out a snort of derision and kicked his horse back into a trot, leaving Malik behind.   
  
Malik looked sadly at the back of his childhood friend. He had chosen a path without companionship, a path of arrogance and one he believed that would lead him to power. He knew it was folly, but Altaïr was beyond listening to reason.   


* * *

Slipping into Jerusalem had been easy, and under Altaïr's orders the group did not stop in the city's bureau to rest. They continued on until they had reached Solomon's temple.

  
Samantha was exhausted. Sleep no longer came easily to her as it had before, and her dreams were now filled with nightmares. She wished that she had never kissed Altaïr. Perhaps then things would have been as they used to be. Silently hiding her feelings was preferable to rejection and the way he now treated her.   
  
"Samantha, are you feeling alright?"   
  
She felt a hand placed softly on her shoulder and she looked up to meet Kadar's blue eyes. Sam couldn't be mad at him, he hadn't done anything but be nice to her. "I'm fine. We can talk more after we finish the mission." A small smile made its way onto her face as the handsome man grinned at her.   
  
"Of course! We can speak about anything you like," Kadar said kindly as he squeezed her shoulder once before removing his hand.   
  
"Wait!" Sam heard Malik address Altaïr, "There must be another way. This one need not die."   
  
The woman watched in horror as Altaïr forced the older man who had been in the corridor to his knees and plunged his hidden blade into his neck. The man was no soldier or Templar, just an innocent worker, most likely trying to provide for himself and his family.   
  
"An excellent kill," Kadar praised from beside her, "fortune favors your blade."   
  
Samantha was speechless, throughout following Altaïr on many missions she had yet to see him stray from the three tenants. Something was horribly wrong.   
  
"Not fortune," Altaïr retracted his blade, "Skill." The assassin rounded on the woman and Kadar. "Watch a while longer and you might learn something," he sneered.   
  
"Indeed," Sam watched as Malik stepped in front of Kadar, "he'll teach you how to disregard everything the master's taught us."   
  
"You broke the first tenant!" Samantha stepped up next to Malik, joining him in confronting Altaïr.   
  
"And how would you have done it?" The assassin asked, disregarding the woman and only acknowledging Malik.   
  
"I would not have drawn attention to us." Malik's voice rose increasingly louder as he spoke. "I would not have taken the life of an innocent, Sam is right, what I would have done is follow the Creed."   
  
"And what does she know?" Altaïr laughed, "She is but a useless novice."   
  
The look Altaïr fixed her combined with his words stung Samantha deeply. This was no longer the Altaïr that had saved her from Abbas, nor the one that had danced with her during the festival. This was a monster.   
  
"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words," the assassin spat, "it matters not how we complete our task, only that it is done."   
  
"But this is not the way of-"   
  
"My way is better," Altaïr cut him off.   
  
"Your way is wrong!" Samantha stepped closer to Altaïr attempting, and failing, to intimidate him.   
  
"Stand down, novice," he growled, "or I will not hesitate from cutting you down as well."   
  
Sam let Amy pull her away from the assassin but continued to hold his glare.   
  
"I will scout ahead, try not to dishonor us further," Malik told the party as he sprinted ahead. He was fed up with Altaïr, for as long as he had been an assassin he should have known how to put the mission before personal matters.   
  
"What is our mission?" Kadar approached Altaïr, "My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited."   
  
"The master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple mount."   
  
Sam was having her own conversation with Amy and was hardly aware of the two men's conversation.   
  
"I don't like this," Samantha mumbled to her friend, "you shouldn't have come."   
  
"Sammy, if it's about-"   
  
"It's not about him," the blonde hissed, "this is just dangerous, and I have a bad feeling."   
  
Amy sighed and turned her gaze to the ground. "I'm sure everything will be fine," she said reassuringly, but it did nothing to quell Samantha's worries.   
  
"Let us be off," Altaïr ordered.   
  
Samantha went to run across the first wooden beam that led to a landing, but Altaïr shoved her away so that he could cross first. The sudden push unbalanced the woman and she fell, barely catching onto the ledge so that she would not plummet to the ground below.   
  
"That bastard," she growled as Kadar reached for her hand to help her up. Sam noticed how his hand lingered on hers for a moment before letting go. His blue eyes locked onto hers and he sent her a small smile.   
  
The group headed further into the temple, their progress was only hindered by one Templar that Altaïr killed quickly. Samantha's main concern at the moment though was whether or not the ceiling would cave in on them. The stone structure all around them seemed unstable. Finally they caught up with Malik and joined him in a much larger room. The ceilings were higher than in the cramped passages and they appeared to be on a wide ledge, many feet off of the ground.   
  
"There!" Malik's voice pulled her attention away from the rest of the room, "That must be the Ark!"   
  
"The Ark," Kadar asked in awe, "Of the Covenant?"   
  
Sam gazed up at the artifact. She could barely make out a sort of hieroglyphics carved into a box seemingly wrought of gold. The Apple of Eden sat perched on top of the chest, gleaming in the light of the two torches on either side of it.   
  
"Don't be silly," Altaïr scoffed, arms crossed. "There's no such thing, it's just a story."   
  
"Then what is it Altaïr?" Samantha snapped, "If you know everything."   
  
She saw Altaïr turn to confront her. "Quiet!" Malik silenced them, "Someone's coming."   
  
"You would do well to hold your tongue novice," Altaïr growled lowly.   
  
Samantha glared up at him. "I hate you," she breathed, putting all emotions she was feeling into those three words.   
  
Altaïr ignored her to look at who had entered the room. Sam followed his gaze and saw three men enter, two in the garb of foot soldiers and the third in a white Templar tunic with a red cross emblazoned on it.   
  
"I want this through the gate by sunrise!" The higher ranked Templar ordered. "The sooner we possess it, the sooner we can turn our attention to those jackals at Masyaf!"   
  
Samantha knew the bald man could only be talking about the assassins. Looking over all of his shining armor she determined that this had to be a high ranking Templar, probably with more skill than she could ever possess.   
  
"Robert de Sable," Altaïr growled, "his life is mine!"   
  
"No!" Malik corrected, "We were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary."   
  
Samantha rolled her eyes, how did they even know he was going to be here? She hadn't heard anything about it at least.   
  
"He stands between us and it," the other assassin argued, "I would say it's necessary."   
  
"There are many ways to reach it without alerting the Templars," Amy pointed out.   
  
"What would you know about it?" Altaïr rounded on the woman who rarely had a say in the plans of a mission.   
  
"Do not bring her into this!" Malik stepped in front of Amy and fixed Altaïr with a harsh glare. "Use discretion, Altaïr!"   
  
"You mean cowardice, that man is our enemy, and here we have a chance to be rid of him!"   
  
"You have already broken two tenants of our Creed. Now you would break the third: Do not compromise the brotherhood!" Malik reminded him.   
  
"You used to be so keen on following the creed," Samantha stepped next to Malik. "'Pride comes before destruction and an arrogant spirit before a fall'," she quoted while holding his gaze.   
  
Altaïr broke first, tearing his eyes away from hers. "I am your superior, in both title and ability. You both should know better than to question me," he spat.   
  
No one moved to oppose Altaïr as he climbed down a ladder onto the floor. "Hold Templar's!" he shouted, "You are not the only ones with business here."   
  
Sam, Amy, Kadar, and Malik slowly made their way to join their companion to confront the Templar's. The cat was out of the bag, and the only thing they could do was watch how things played out.   
  
"Ah!" the bald man turned to face them. His face was covered in stubble from a night of not shaving and he held himself upright in an almost haughty way. "Well, this explains my missing man," he said matter-of-factly. "And what is it you want?"   
  
"Blood."   
  
Samantha watched as Malik tried to prevent Altaïr from attacking, but the other assassin dodged past him, his hidden blade extended. She also noticed that another Templar had joined their opposition, making four skilled fighters that they would have to face should events go awry.   
  
Robert expected the attack and easily caught the assassin by his forearm. Altaïr tried to push against the hand restraining him in attempt to get his hidden blade closer to his target.   
  
"You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin," Robert spoke as he continued to hold back Altaïr's attack. "I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message. The Holy Land is lost to him and his; he should flee now while he has the chance. Stay, and all of you will die."   
  
Samantha watched as the Templar waited a moment to let the grim message sink in. Suddenly she found that Robert was throwing Altaïr into some of the building's scaffolding. The blonde watched in horror as the wooden beams broke and huge slabs of stone fell to the spot where the assassin had been not moments before, effectively separating them.   
  
Altaïr would come back though, she was sure of it. He was not one to quit a mission so easily.   
  
"Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!" Robert called and pulled her attention back to more urgent matters.   
  
Samantha unsheathed her sword, feeling its weight in her palms seemed to give her strength. The first soldier approached her warily; she still had her hood up, which would make him think she was a male assassin and not to be trifled with.   
  
The sound of fighting and steel clashing surrounded her as her blade struck the Templar's. She knew that she was a capable sword fighter and attacked with confidence, a vast comparison from her first fight with Jabaar. It was not long before she had struck down her attacker. There were now three left, including Robert.   
  
"Kadar!"   
  
Samantha heard Malik's heart-wrenching scream. Somehow she knew what she would find if she turned around, but she couldn't stop her body from facing the scene before her. Time stood still for that fraction of a second as her eyes fell upon the two brothers, one of which she had very nearly started to have tender feelings for. Kadar lay on the ground, unmoving. His blue eyes, now without their spark of life, stared endlessly up at the ceiling. Malik knelt over his brother, blood seeping through the sleeve of his tunic, and tears rolling down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with sobs as he clung desperately to the body of his dead brother. She knew in that moment that Altaïr would not come back for them.   
  
Sam sprinted over to the assassin and noticed he had killed one of the Templar's. Two more ran into the room to replace the fallen knight.   
  
"Malik," Sam mumbled to him as she gripped his uninjured arm.   
  
He attempted to shake her off.   
  
"Malik!" She said more forcefully this time.   
  
The assassin looked up at her, anguish contorting his face.   
  
"You have to go, get the Ark and finish the mission," she ordered him.   
  
Malik did not move.   
  
Samantha had no more time to spare; she roughly pulled him to his feet and pushed him in the direction that would lead him away from the fighting. "Go!" she shouted and set him into motion.   
  
As Malik sprinted away Samantha faced her two new adversaries. With a pang of fear she noticed Amy pinned in a corner with a Templar holding his sword out in front of her.   
  
Sam lunged at one of the Templar's hoping to quickly find an opening in his defenses, but these two were more experienced in fighting than the first man had been. They did not hesitate to use their superior numbers to their advantage. As she blocked a sword an attack came from her side. She moved in time to avoid the full brunt of the attack, but the fist of one of the men still slammed into her head, momentarily stunning her.   
  
The Templar swung his sword back, preparing the killing blow.   
  
"Hold!" Robert ordered.   
  
Samantha panted and stood up straight, once again gaining her bearings.   
  
"Drop your sword Assassin, or your female companion dies."   
  
Sam looked over to see Amy shaking her head, telling her to continue fighting. However, she had already lost Kadar, and she would not stand to see Amy hurt or killed.   
  
Her sword clanged to the floor.   
  
Immediately hands roughly seized both of her arms, and it took all of her restraint not to fight back against them. Robert slowly approached her, and unsheathed his own sword. She wondered if he had only wanted to kill her himself. He put his blade level with her throat, but surprised her by instead moving his blade up to throw back her hood.   
  
"Ah! I thought I heard another woman speak! So my informant was correct, the assassins have allowed a woman to join their ranks."   
  
Samantha didn't say anything.   
  
The Templar lowered his sword and approached her, his hand moving to cup her face. "You are no ordinary woman are you?" he whispered lowly, "my informant has told me of where you came from."   
  
The blonde held the man's gaze. Robert, pleased with his new captive, turned to face the rest of his men.   
  
"We ride for Masyaf tonight to reclaim what is rightfully ours! Deus vult!" He shouted, and succeeded in rallying up his men.   
  
He turned back to Samantha. "I shall see what use we can get out of you," his eyes drifted over to Amy, "and your friend before we reach the city."   
  
Sam didn't like the ominous tone the Templar had used and began to struggle against the men holding her. They could do whatever they wanted to her, but if they touched Amy she swore that she would make them suffer.   
  
"Bind and blindfold them! Be sure to strip them of any other weapons!" Robert ordered before walking away to attend to preparations. He was going to march on Masyaf.   


* * *

 

Sam didn't know how long they had been riding, but it felt like many hours. She was blindfolded and her hands were tightly bound in front of her. The Templars had put her in front of one of them on a horse, and the constant movement was beginning to make her feel sick.   
  
Her thoughts lingered on Amy; she had not seen her friend since they had been taken from Solomon's Temple. Samantha had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Now, more than ever, she wished they had found a way back home. 

At the moment she had little time to mourn for Kadar, and thought only of how Altaïr had betrayed them and left them for dead. She hoped Malik had been successful at least.   
  
She suddenly felt the horse she was on jolt to a halt and the sound of whispering voices started from behind her. Sam was pulled roughly off of the large animal and put onto her feet, strong arms pushing her in the direction they wished her to go. She stumbled along quietly, trying to keep her balance.   
  
Once she had walked some distance she was forced to sit. Her bonds were cut, but immediately her hands were forced behind her and tied up once more. The Templar left her and she leaned back, trying to relax her tense muscles. Her back met something soft and warm.   
  
"Sam?" She heard Amy whimper from behind her.   
  
The blonde scooted herself backwards until their backs were touching. "I'm here Amy," Samantha told her friend as she fought against the ropes around her wrists. Finally she managed to move enough to hold her friend's hand.   
  
"W-what's going to happen to us?" Amy choked out through sobs.   
  
"I don't know Amy," Samantha breathed, "but I won't let them hurt you."   
  
She felt her friends shoulders shake against her back as she cried softly.   
  
“I'm sorry," Sam whispered, "for getting you into this."   
  
Amy squeezed her hand tighter, "There is nothing to forgive Sammy."   
  
Sam's small smile was more like a grimace as she heard her nickname, and tears welled up in her eyes only to soak into the cloth covering them. If they were going to die here, at least she would be dying with her friend by her side.   
  
The sound of fabric rustling caught her attention and footsteps approached her. Samantha winced as the cloth was torn off of her and candlelight assaulted her sensitive eyes. Once she had adjusted Sam was able to make out her surroundings. She was in a large canvas tent that had most likely been set up for the night. Several makeshift wood tables were in place and held brightly burning candles to light up maps that had been strewn across them.   
  
"Will you speak with me now Assassin?"   
  
Sam looked to her right to see Robert leaning against a table and staring intently at her.   
  
"There is nothing to speak about," she spat.   
  
"I disagree entirely, you know, they say you are from the future."   
  
Samantha stared at the sandy ground in front of her. There was no possible way that any rumors could have traveled to the Templars, very few people knew of where she and Amy came from.   
  
"I am not an extremely patient man," the Templar said as he approached her and knelt down to her eye level, "I suggest you tell me what you know."   
  
"Your Crusade fails, and you will inevitably die," Sam growled, "history will not be changed."   
  
Robert smirked, "We shall see." The Templar stood and turned his gaze to the flap of the tent, "Guards!"   
  
Two men rushed in to see what the matter was, but relaxed after seeing that their superior was in no peril.   
  
"I need a messenger sent to the leader of the assassin's!" he ordered.   
  
One of the soldiers moved to leave but Robert halted him in his tracks. "Wait," he moved out of Sam's view and she felt Amy's hand ripped out of hers as he pulled her friend to her feet, "this one will deliver it with one of our men."   
  
Robert bent down so his eyes were level with Amy's, "You will tell the assassins that if the Ark is not returned to me then this one will die," he gestured to Sam.   
  
Amy shook visibly and tried to steady her breathing.   
  
"If I may," one of the soldiers began and Robert gave him leave to speak, "they will want proof that our captive is still alive."   
  
The bald Templar rubbed his chin in thought, "What you say is true."   
  
Samantha watched wearily as Robert continued to pace in the room. After a moment he stopped and sent her a wicked grin.   
  
"I see you have not yet acquired your hidden blade," he pulled her to her feet by her bound hands, "and still possess all ten fingers."   
  
The Templar cut her bonds and led her over to one of the wooden tables, "Allow me to relieve you of one."   
  
Robert nodded to his guards, one seized Amy and the other grabbed Sam's wrist, forcing her palm against the wood.   
  
Events happened in a dizzying whirl. Robert unsheathed a large knife and her hand was involuntarily made into a fist by her captor, with only her ring finger sticking out. In a flash, the sickening sound of metal cutting through skin and bone reached her ears, followed by white hot pain shooting from up her hand and through her arm.   
  
Samantha's vision was now a red blur and a loud sound buzzed in her ear. Someone was screaming.   
  
Her hazy vision cleared as she felt a hand smack her face. "Stay awake Assassin," Robert teased, "you would not want to dishonor your order, no?"   
  
Sam realized it was her who had been screaming as she clutched her hand, now slick with blood. Amy was crying from the other side of the room where the other soldier still held her.   
  
Robert slipped the severed digit into a small wooden box and handed it to the auburn haired woman. "Proof for your master," he waved at the soldier, "send her to Masyaf."   
  
Amy screamed for her friend as she was pulled out of the room. She could hear the muffled sound of Robert ordering Sam to be bandaged up as the soldier forced her onto his horse outside of the tent. She strained her ears, trying to hear anything else that could possibly help the assassins.   
  
"Take her to Acre."   
  
These words were enough and Amy released her momentary composure and broke into sobs. She clutched the box tightly in her hands, nails digging into the wood, as the Templar kicked his horse into a gallop.   
\--   
"Altaïr! You've returned!"   
  
The assassin looked up to meet the other man's gaze. "Rauf," he acknowledged.   
  
"It is good to see you unharmed," the other assassin smiled, "I trust your mission was a success?"   
  
Altaïr looked away for a moment, breathing deeply, he wished his answer could have been 'yes'.   
  
"Is the master in his tower?" he asked instead.   
  
"Yes, yes; buried in his books as always. No doubt he expects you." Rauf answered, ignoring that Altaïr did not answer his question.   
  
"My thanks, brother." Altaïr said sincerely.   
  
"Safety and peace, Altaïr."   
  
"On you as well," the assassin replied as he departed. The sooner he could get to Al Mualim the better.   
  
Altaïr made his way through the town below Masyaf and up the slopes to the fortress. It was good coming home, but he knew what he had left behind in Jerusalem.   
  
"Ah, he returns at last!"   
  
Altaïr watched as Abbas greeted him, grinning mockingly as he leaned against the stone entranceway. "Abbas," he growled.   
  
"Where are the others?" Abbas looked around behind him, "Did you ride ahead hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loathe to share the glory."   
  
Altaïr did not speak.   
  
"Silence is just another form of assent, and I was so looking forward to seeing your novice again," Abbas jeered. "Perhaps this time before killing her I would have taken her to bed myself."   
  
"Have you nothing better to do?" the assassin growled, fueled with anger of the idea of Samantha being raped by the brute in front of him. He had left her in Solomon's Temple, though, with Templars who would not hesitate to do the same. Altaïr grimaced and pushed the thoughts away.   
  
"I bring word from the master. He waits for you in the library." Abbas drew closer, "Best hurry, no doubt you're eager to put your tongue to his boot."   
  
"Another word and I'll put my blade to your throat," Altaïr threatened.   
  
Abbas leaned back against the wall. "There will be plenty of time for that later 'brother'," he scoffed.   
  
Altaïr growled and strode past the other assassin, hitting shoulders with him challengingly as he did. He continued through the courtyard of men training and into the main hall of the fortress where Al Mualim's study was. Taking a deep breath, he started up the stairs to the library. He was nervous about telling his master that the mission had not been carried out. Altaïr had never before failed at a task set before him.   
  
Altaïr approached the aged assassin who had been pacing behind his desk.   
  
"Altaïr!" he greeted him.   
  
"Master," the assassin said, bowing slightly.   
  
"Come forward," Al Mualim eagerly beckoned him, "tell me of your mission. I trust you have recovered the Templar's treasure."   
  
Altaïr remained where he was, "There was some trouble, master, Robert de Sable was not alone."   
  
His master seemed unfazed at the hinted failure. "When does our work ever go as expected? It's our ability to adapt that makes us who we are."   
  
"This time it was not enough," Altaïr said lowly.   
  
"What do you mean?" Al Mualim's face darkened.   
  
"I have failed you..." the words tasted bitter in his mouth.   
  
"The treasure?"   
  
"Lost to us."   
  
"And Robert?" Al Mualim was now grasping at straws.   
  
"Escaped."   
  
He could see the rage grow in his master's eyes as he lowered his gaze. Altaïr prepared any argument he could muster and braced himself for the berating he was sure to receive.   
  
"I send you, my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before." Al Mualim spoke lowly his teeth grinding against each other. "And you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses!" His voice rose as the older man attacked him with acrimony.   
  
"I did-"   
  
"Do not speak!" Al Mualim spat, "Not another word!" The elder assassin stroked his beard in thought and began pacing once more, "This is not what I expected. We'll need to mount another force."   
  
"I swear to you I'll find him!" Altaïr started, eager to redeem himself, "I'll go and-"   
  
"No!" Al Mualim snapped, his ire growing with every word his pupil spoke, "You've done enough!" The man paused and looked around, "Where are the others?"   
  
"Dead," Altaïr replied softly, part of him hoping that his words were untrue. Another part said that they deserved it if they were not strong enough to defeat their foes.   
  
"No!" The sudden voice made both assassins turn in surprise, "Not dead!"   
  
"Malik!" Al Mualim greeted.

Altaïr noticed that he had arrived alone.

"I still live at least!" Malik spat.   
  
"What of Samantha and Amy? Kadar?" the older man asked hopefully.   
  
"My brother is dead," Malik replied angrily, "I do not know of Samantha and Amy's fate. The last I saw they were still breathing, but heavily outnumbered. All of this," he pointed his finger at Altaïr accusingly, "because of you!"   
  
"Robert threw me from the room! There was no way back, nothing I could do," he tried to defend.   
  
"Because you would not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided! And my brother..." Malik trailed off, "my brother would still be alive! Amy and Samantha would have been here! Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today!"   
  
"'Nearly'?" Al Mualim questioned.   
  
"I brought what your favorite failed to find, thanks to Samantha I was able to find the strength to retrieve the Ark. Here, take it."   
  
The Ark was brought in by another assassin and placed on the table behind them.   
  
"Though it seems I have returned with more than just their treasure..."   
  
"Master! A Templar camp has been spotted not far from Masyaf! They are armed and mounting a force for attack." Another assassin informed the master.   
  
"Take Malik to Anass so that his wounds may be tended," he ordered one assassin and the two left, Malik leaning heavily on the other man for support. "Robert de Sable seeks a battle! Very well, I'll not deny him. Go, inform the others," he told the last remaining assassin other than Altaïr, "The fortress must be prepared."   
  
"As for you, Altaïr, our discussion will have to wait. You-"   
  
The master assassin was interrupted once more.   
  
Altaïr watched as Amy stood before them panting. She had sprinted from the stables where she had left the Templar soldier, through the town, and had not stopped running until she had reached the library.   
  
"Amy!" Al Mualim seemed relieved, "Have you brought Samantha with you?"   
  
The woman shook her head, desperately trying to regain her breath so that she could relay her massage.   
  
"Sam. Templars. The-"   
  
"Peace child," Al Mualim placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, "take your time."   
  
It was a few moments before Amy had calmed down enough to speak. Slowly, she handed the box she had been clutching for dear life over to the older assassin.   
  
Al Mualim took the box, pulling the top open and curiously looking into it. His hand rose to cover his mouth, "Samantha?"   
  
Amy nodded.   
  
The master assassin handed Altaïr the box and he also looked inside.   
  
"She is dead then?" Al Mualim asked, defeated.   
  
"Alive! The Templar demands the Ark in exchange for her return."   
  
"This is grave news...we cannot afford to hand over the treasure, it is too important."   
  
"What?" Amy asked, her eyes welled up in tears as she realized what was happening.   
  
"I am sorry, child, it is a necessary sacrifice we must make. Samantha was aware of the dangers she would face should she join us."   
  
"No!" Amy cried and ran to the older assassin, clutching onto his robes, "You can't let them kill her!"   
  
Al Mualim pried her hands off of his clothing, "I am afraid I am going to have to order you to your room until you have your wits about you once more."   
  
Amy was taken, sobbing, from the library by one of the assassin's who had been standing guard.   
  
"Altaïr," Al Mualim addressed his pupil.   
  
The younger man had been staring at the floor, one hand clenched to a fist at his side, the other tightly clutching the wooden box that had been handed to him. Samantha was in the clutches of Robert de Sable because of him, and would be subjected to who knows what kind of torture before he finally killed her.   
  
The sound of fighting broke out from the direction of the gates.   
  
"Go!" Al Mualim ordered, "you must make for the village. Destroy these invaders. Drive them from our home!"   
  
"It will be done," Altaïr bowed as he seethed inwardly.   
  
"Altaïr!"   
  
The assassin had just returned from distracting and killing Templars so that the citizens of Masyaf could escape from the city and into the fortress.   
  
He approached Rauf.   
  
"Come, Al Mualim's not done with us just yet."   
  
"Where are we going?" Altaïr asked as he began to follow the other man.   
  
"Up there," he pointed to the tower that Altaïr had first brought Samantha to for her first Leap of Faith, "we've a surprise planned for our guests. Just do as I do; it should become clear soon enough."   
  
Altaïr followed the other assassin up the tower and onto one of the platforms; below he could make out the piles of hay. To his right he watched as Robert's forces approached the gates of the fortress.   
  
"Heretic!" the Templar shouted, "Return what you have stolen from me!"   
  
Al Mualim could be seen standing high upon the fortress walls, surrounded by other assassins.   
  
"You've no claim to it, Robert!" Al Mualim shouted back, "Take yourself from here before I'm forced to thin your ranks further!"   
  
"You play a dangerous game!" Robert warned.   
  
"I assure, this is no game!"   
  
"So be it..." Robert gestured at some of the Templars, "Bring forth the hostage!"   
  
Altaïr watched, praying that it would not be Samantha.   
  
It wasn't. Instead another assassin was brought forth and promptly killed in front of everyone.   
  
"Give me what you have stolen unless you'd like the woman we captured in Jerusalem to die as well!"   
  
Altaïr listened for an answer. Perhaps the old man would change his mind, but Al Mualim did not reply.   
  
"Your village lies in ruins and your stores are hardly endless! Yet you still oppose the inevitable? How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain, when the wells run dry and their food is gone?" Robert shouted, he was tiring of the pointless banter with this old man. He was almost positive that threatening the life of the woman would yield results.   
  
"My men do not fear death, Robert! They welcome it, and the rewards it brings!"   
  
"Good!" the Templar shouted, "Then they shall have it all around!"   
  
"Follow me," Rauf said from the platform beside him, "and do so without hesitation."   
  
"Show these fool knights what it is to have no fear!" Al Mualim yelled and gestured at them, "Go to God!"   
  
Altaïr grinned at the well planned deception to unnerve their foes and jumped from the platform and into the hay below. He climbed out of the hay and saw Rauf also exit uninjured, the other assassin had not been so lucky and had badly broken his leg and was shouting and cursing.   
  
Rauf told Altaïr that he would stay behind and tend to the other assassin and bid he go on. He also informed Altaïr about trap that had been laid.   
  
Altaïr ran out onto the very same platforms he had trained Sam on and across the ravine until he had reached the guard tower and climbed up it. The assassin drew his sword and sprung the trap, cutting loose several large logs that rolled over many of Robert's men.   
  
The Templar called for an immediate retreat. "You will regret this Assassins!" he threatened, "and the woman we still hold captive shall pay dearly!"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter probably has the most game dialogue but I worked hard to put my own twist on it and provide insight into Altaïr's thoughts. I'm also really uncomfortable writing accents but I needed a distinguishing characteristic and I hope it came across okay.

Amy had been confined to her room for the rest of the day, and was not allowed to leave until sunrise the next morning. She had not slept that night, and was awake at daybreak. She needed to see Malik, needed to talk to him. Amy had not seen him since Solomon's Temple and wanted to make sure he was safe.   
  
The guard that had been at her door must have left some time during the night since he was no longer there when she went to leave. Amy didn't bother changing her clothes or worrying about her travel-worn appearance. All that mattered was Malik. If Samantha was gone, he was all she had left.   
  
The corridors were empty so she assumed everyone else was still sleeping. Amy ran, her slippers slapping softly against the flagstone, until she had arrived at Malik's room. He wasn't there, and the only things that had been returned were his weapons. Amy's mind was running wild with worry. Had he been hurt? Where could he possibly be at this time in the morning?   
  
She would start her search in the infirmary.   
  
Amy shut the door with a small 'click' and began to make her way downstairs to the rooms where Malik would have been moved to in order to recover under Anass’ watchful eye. It did not take long, and she was eager to see her assassin again.   
  
The doors of the recovery wing were all labelled with the names of the men who temporarily dwelled within them. About halfway down the hall she found Malik's name had been written on a piece of parchment and nailed to the door. Her hand gently turned the cold, brass knob and the wooden door easily swung open. At first glance she saw Malik, asleep amongst the white bed linens. Amy gently closed the door behind her to give them some privacy. She drew nearer to the bed until she could reach out and touch his face.   
  
He had the sheets drawn up to his shoulders, and looked as if he was resting peacefully. Amy smiled gently and kissed his forehead. After a minute he began to stir.   
  
"Malik!" She smiled after his eyes had opened and he noticed her.   
  
At first he seemed happy to see her, but she watched as his face hardened, as if he had just remembered a bad dream.   
  
"You escaped?" he asked incredulously as he sat up.   
  
The sheets fell and pooled around Malik's waist, his torso was bare and Amy could not help from crying out from what she saw next.   
  
"Malik!" Her eyes were already beginning to well up with tears.   
  
Malik grasped the stump that was left of his arm and averted his gaze from hers.   
  
"W-what happened?" She stuttered, trying to keep her tears at bay.   
  
"They could do nothing..." he murmured.   
  
"You mean Anass, I was in my room, I could have helped!" Amy's voice cracked as her legs gave out from underneath her. Her knees hit the stone floor hard, bruising them, but she didn't care. She stared at her hands in her lap, shaking violently, and saw her tears fall onto her palms. "It's my fault...I could have saved..." Amy could not finish her sentence and began to sob quietly.   
  
She heard Malik move from in front of her. A warm hand was placed under her chin and forced her to look up.   
  
"Do not blame this on yourself," Malik murmured as he wiped away a few of her tears, "not ever."   
  
Amy watched as Malik moved away again, his back resting against the headboard. She bit her lip and tried to dry her eyes. Being strong was something Samantha had always been better at, but now it was her turn.   
  
"You do not have to stay here," Malik told her softly.   
  
"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, confused, and crawled onto the bed.   
  
"You need not pretend that you still want me, Amy, I cannot even wrap my arms around you as I once did." Malik did not look at her, he was ashamed to. So much had been taken from them, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.   
  
Amy could not believe what she was hearing. He thought that the loss of his arm would change her feelings for him?   
  
She approached him slowly until she had straddled his waist and was staring deeply into his brown eyes. "I love you," she said firmly, "nothing will ever change that."   
  
Malik seemed stunned. She had never before told him that she loved him, their affections were mutual, and that had always been good enough. After everything it seemed only right that they shared this. They had almost lost each other.   
  
Amy leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. "I never wish to be parted from you," she spoke quickly, her voice thick with emotion as she repeated the words he had once said to her. Amy kissed him passionately. She had been so afraid of losing Malik, or dying before she had gotten to tell him that she loved him. No longer would she leave his side unless necessary. Time was too precious now to be wasted.   
  
"I thought I had lost you," Malik whispered as he ran his hand through her tangled locks of hair.   
  
"I am here," she assured, "and I will not leave."   
  
Amy wrapped an arm around Malik, making herself comfortable and resting her head on his chest.   
  
"Where is Samantha?" the assassin asked after nearly thirty minutes of silence, "has she been placed in one of the other recovery rooms?"   
  
She bit her lip. "Sam..." her voice was hardly a whisper, "she's probably dead by now."   
  
"Dead?" Malik asked. She could feel his breath coming in short bursts.   
  
"Robert wanted the Ark in exchange for her safe return, and Al Mualim would not give it to him," she said bitterly.   
  
"Amy," Malik breathed and buried his face into her hair, "Kadar and Samantha, both lost to us."   
  
Amy wrapped her arms tighter around Malik's torso and took a shuddering breath of air.   
  
Malik began to cry silently then as he remembered his younger brother. He had always been by his side laughing with him, training with him, teasing him. As the elder brother he had promised himself that he would protect Kadar, and he had failed. He remembered holding his lifeless body, wishing that it had been him who had died rather than Kadar, who had so much to live for. The image haunted him, as if it were no more than a nightmare, but the lack of his brothers' laughing face and bright smile reminded him that it was all real.   
  
Amy cried for Samantha. She had lost her best friend, who had always been there for her, and had always protected her regardless of what it cost her personally. Losing Samantha was like losing a sister, and she couldn't bear the idea that all of this would had been avoided if they had never gone to that museum. It was hard to think of what could have been, because then she would have also never met Malik.   


* * *

Altaïr had returned over the walls of the fortress after Robert's forces had gone. The assassin continued into the courtyard where many men milled around. Al Mualim stood at the head of the crowd on a slightly raised terrace, almost as if he had been waiting for him. He approached his master, prepared to be praised and thanked for the help he had just given. Perhaps his blunder in Solomon's Temple would even be forgotten.

"You did well to drive Robert from here. His force is broken. It should be a long while before he troubles us again." Al Mualim spoke as his pupil stood before him.   
  
Altaïr tried to contain the smirk forming on his lips. Everything would go back to the way it was before. He would be a master assassin, and although a small part of him in the back of his mind resented the fact that Samantha would no longer be in his life he told himself that it was better this way. She would no longer tempt him and he would be better off.   
  
He didn't waste time considering what would happen to Samantha. He was sure he would soon forget her.   
  
"Tell me, do you know why it is you are successful?"   
  
Altaïr hadn't expected this, and did not answer.   
  
"You listened! Were it that you'd listened in Solomon's Temple, Altaïr, all of this would have been avoided."   
  
The assassin's blood began to boil. He was being talked to like he was a child who had just disobeyed his parents. Al Mualim was belittling him in front of everyone.   
  
"I did as I was asked," he growled.   
  
"No, you did as you pleased! Malik has told me of the arrogance you displayed—your disregard for our ways!"

Malik had told him. Of course he did, his supposed 'friend' would do anything to make him look bad in front of the master. He was just as bad as Samantha had been, always poking their noses into business that didn't belong to them.   
  
All of these lies Altaïr continued to feed to himself were only further corrupting him.   
  
Suddenly, two other assassins seized him from behind, tightly gripping his arms so that he could hardly move them. "What are you doing?" Altaïr demanded. He was better than these men, and did not deserve to be treated like this.   
  
"There are rules. We are nothing if we do not abide by the Assassiun's Creed:" Al Mualim quit his pacing and grabbed Altaïr's chin, forcing him to make eye contact and focus on his words, "three simple tenets, which you seem to forget. I will remind you. First and foremost: Stay your blade-"   
  
"From the flesh of an innocent, I know," Altaïr interrupted, finding this conversation repetitive and useless.   
  
His words were met by Al Mualim's hand slapping him across the face. The assassin gritted his teeth to stop from lashing out at his master as his head snapped to one side. "And stay your tongue! Unless I give you leave to use it," the older assassin snapped. "If you are so familiar with this tenet, then why did you kill the old man inside the Temple? He was innocent! He did not need to die."   
  
Altaïr tried to keep his gaze from his master, looking at the ground or at the fortress walls. His pride was being forcefully crushed by Al Mualim and he was being shamed in front of a crowd of people who were weaker than him, who did not deserve to see him brought so low.   
  
"Your insolence knows no bounds. Make humble your heart, child, or I swear I will tear it from you with my own hands!"   
  
He had never seen his master so angry before. Altaïr did not believe he deserved this. The relic Al Mualim had wanted was in his possession. What was there to be angry about? So a few lives had been lost in the process, but there were many other assassins that could stand and replace them.   
  
"The second tenet is that which gives us strength: Hide in plain sight. Let the people mask you such that you become one with the crowd. Do you remember? Because as I hear it, you chose to expose yourself, drawing attention before you struck!"   
  
The assassin continued to listen, believing that after he had been publicly shamed all would be forgiven.   
  
"The third and final tenet, the worst of all your betrayals: never compromise the Brotherhood. Its meaning should be obvious. Your actions must never bring harm upon us, direct or indirect! Yet your selfish act beneath Jerusalem placed us all in danger! Worse still, you brought the enemy to our home! We lost Samantha, a more powerful ally than you'll ever know, and you still do not see the error of your ways. Every man we lost today was lost because of you!"   
  
Al Mualim's words haunted him for a moment. He wondered what could possibly be so important about his novice. She was barely a better fighter than Kadar, and showed no real promise of becoming any greater.   
  
His thoughts were short lived as he noticed his master draw a knife.   
  
"I am sorry, I truly am," the older man said morosely, "but I cannot abide a traitor."   
  
"I am not a traitor!" Altaïr argued and began to struggle against the men holding him. Things had suddenly taken a deadly turn.   
  
"Your actions indicate otherwise. And so you leave me no choice. Peace be upon you, Altaïr."   
  
The assassin felt the pain as his master stabbed him, felt life slowly ebb away from his body. His vision turned black.   
  
Altaïr felt life upon him again as he awoke. He breathed shallow intakes of air into his lungs and held the area where Al Mualim had wounded him. There was no pain, and nothing was there. His vision cleared as he blinked and looked around. He found himself on the floor in the library, in front of the desk of Al Mualim's study. Slowly, he rose to his feet and gingerly tested his balance. After decided all was well he strode towards the desk that his master was pacing behind.   
  
"I am, alive?" He asked, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "I saw you stab me. I felt death's embrace!"   
  
"You saw what I wanted you to see, and then you slept the sleep of the dead. Of the womb, that you might awake, and be reborn."   
  
His master was talking nonsense. Reborn? He was who he had always been and he would not, could not change. "To what end?" Altaïr questioned.   
  
"Do you remember, Altaïr, what it is the Assassins fight for?"   
  
"Peace, in all things," he recited, the words ingrained in his mind from his teachings.   
  
"Yes, in all things." His master walked around his desk to approach Altaïr, "It is not enough to end the violence one man commits upon another. It refers to peace within as well. You cannot have one without the other."   
  
"So it is said," the younger assassin said insolently. Again, his master was rambling on about spiritual matters that did not concern him.   
  
"So it is!" Al Mualim said harshly. "But you, my son, have not found inner peace! It manifests in ugly ways! You are arrogant and overconfident." His master sighed, "I had hoped you had changed when Samantha was thrown so unexpectedly into your life. You two worked so very well together and it seemed as if you had left the other part of you behind."   
  
Altaïr hated that his master continued to bring up his novice. How was he to forget about her when she would be continually mentioned? Al Mualim spoke as if she had been his saving grace, when he could only see her presence as a curse.   
  
"Were you not the one to say 'nothing is true and everything is permitted?'" Again he found these words come from his mouth as he attempted to defend himself.   
  
"You do not understand the true meaning of the phrase, my child. It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish." Al Mualim returned to behind his desk. "It is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack!"   
  
The assassin took the blow to his pride without question, deciding it was best if he no longer argued with his master to avoid angering him further. "Then what is to become of me?"   
  
"I should kill you for the pain you brought upon us. Malik thinks it only fair, your life in exchange for his brother's," The older man admitted.   
  
Altaïr growled lowly, he still failed to see how all of the blame had fallen upon him. If the others hadn't have been so weak they would have come out of Solomon's Temple unscathed. A small voice in his head told him that he was the one who failed to kill Robert, that he too was weak, but Altaïr quickly pushed the thought aside.    
  
"But this would be a waste of my time and your talents. You'll see that you've been stripped of your positions."   
  
The assassin realized that his master spoke truthfully. Everything, even his hidden blade, had been taken from him. He found that some of his armor was also missing.   
  
"Your rank as well," his master continued, "You are a novice, a child once more, as you were on the day you first joined our order."   
  
His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin. Had he heard his master correctly? A novice? This was an outrage!   
  
Al Mualim saw that his pupil was going to argue and spoke quickly, "I am offering you a chance at redemption. You'll earn your way back into the Brotherhood. "   
  
"I assume you have something planned," the assassin stated, jaw clenched tightly in anger.   
  
Al Mualim told him of how he was supposed to find the man who had betrayed them to the Templars. He objected to going through such trivial training, but of course his master was more than adamant about it. Altaïr found the traitor quickly. It had been awhile since he had tracked his targets, but he was more than capable of doing it as he had not but three years ago. Before the sun had even begun to set he brought the traitor before Al Mualim.   
  
"You did well, Altaïr, and have earned the right to carry a blade once more."   
  
The assassin was handed the sword that his master had just used to kill Masun. It was an old generic sword from the armory, the beautifully crafted one he had received after his initiation was not returned to him. He realized that he should have been grateful that he had been given a weapon at all.   
  
"What will become of the one who helped him?"   
  
"That remains to be seen. Some do ill out of ignorance or fear. These men can be saved. Others suffer from corrupted wills, their minds poisoned and twisted. These men must be destroyed. Soon enough we will shall see what sort Jamal is."   
  
"I have one more question," Altaïr murmured.   
  
His master looked surprised, "What is it then?"   
  
The assassin heaved a sigh, but was too curious to let his question go unanswered. "Why did you not ask Masun anything about Samantha? He had connections with the Templars, and perhaps information about her whereabouts."   
  
"I am baffled by your concern, Altaïr. From what Malik told me you had lost all care for your student, even threatened her life."   
  
Altaïr grimaced, "I am only curious."   
  
"I already know of where they have taken her, the information came from Amy. I fear it is a lost cause, though. The Templars would have already killed her, and if not, Acre is no small city to search for her in."   
  
"She is in Acre?"   
  
"It would be folly to waste time searching for her, and you are not to do so." Al Mualim ordered harshly.   
  
"I have no objections." Altaïr told his master. In fact, it was probably better that he thought she was dead. It would make forgetting that much easier. "I've passed your test, what now?" he asked, changing the subject.   
  
"Oh my child, we've only just begun," his master chuckled. Al Mualim drew a scroll out from underneath his desk, "I hold here a list. Nine names adorn it, nine men who need to die."   
  
Altaïr could see where this was heading, but he knew it was necessary for his redemption to once again reach his rank in the brotherhood.   
  
"They are plague-bringers, war-makers. Their power and influence corrupts the land and ensure the Crusades continue. You will find them. Kill them. In doing so, you sow the seeds of peace, both for the region, and for yourself. In this way you might be redeemed."   
  
"Nine lives, in exchange for mine." Altaïr stated matter-of-factly. Al Mualim's words "for yourself” confused him though. How would killing these men bring him peace? What would he learn from this task that his master was hinting at?   
  
"A most generous offer, I think. Have you any questions?"   
  
"Only where I need begin." The assassin was eager to leave Masyaf; the sooner he killed these nine men, the better.   
  
"Very well, ride for Damascus. Seek out the black market merchant named Tamir. Let him be the first to fall."   
  
Altaïr was secretly glad he was being sent to was Damascus, and hoped he wouldn't be headed for Jerusalem for a while. His failure was still too fresh to look upon that city so soon.   
  
"Be sure to visit the city's bureau when you arrive. I'll dispatch a bird to inform the Rafiq of your arrival. Speak with him, you'll find he has much to offer." Al Mualim released a carrier pigeon and it flew out of the window behind him.   
  
"If you think it best," he replied, slightly confused about having to see the Rafiq. Before, he could enter the city, kill his target, and leave if he so pleased. Staying in the bureau had always been a comfort he had enjoyed, but now he felt the urge to rush and complete his tasks.   
  
"I do. Besides, you cannot begin your mission without his consent."   
  
"What nonsense is this?" Altaïr spat. "I do not need his permission! It's a waste of time!"   
  
"It's the price you pay for the mistakes you've made," Al Mualim told him calmly. "You'll answer not only to me, but all the Brotherhood as well now."   
  
The assassin remembered that his master had said he was now a novice. He would be subjected to the same treatment as one, the same treatment Samantha had received from him. "So be it," he growled, still disliking the idea.   
  
"Take your equipment and go," Al Mualim waved him off, "prove you are not yet lost to us."   
  
Altaïr found that some of his armor had been returned to him, along with his hidden blade. He checked that it was in proper working condition and left the library. He headed immediately for Damascus, wanting to arrive there as soon as possible due to the delay that visiting the bureau would cause. The assassin had found his saving grace. It was not his novice, but the names of the nine men he was to kill.

* * *

  
Samantha hadn't had much experience with pain before now. There had been a broken arm from falling out of a tree and scrapes and bruises occasionally, but nothing like this. Searing pain from her missing finger had kept her awake the first night the Templars had been on the road towards Acre. 

The next day she was exhausted, but the Templars had already grown bored as they travelled. They tied her behind one of their horses to walk behind them, barefoot, in the scorching sands. Samantha had wanted to cry so many times then but the thought of Altaïr, of his betrayal, fueled her onwards. She walked with her head held high, ignoring the jeers and taunts from the Templars surrounding her.   
  
Now she lay curled up on the ground of the small cell she had been put in within the city of Acre. Alone, of the emotions that she had built up inside her since Solomon's Temple poured out. Hot tears blinded her eyes as images of Kadar, lying dead in Malik's arms, flashed before her. She thought of Amy too, of her terrified face when the Templars had captured them. Samantha was at least glad that she was here rather than her friend.   
  
It should have been Altaïr who was there in a cold, grimy cell. Not her. Sam's hand trembled as she clenched it into a fist. All of this would have been avoided had it not been for him. He had betrayed all of them when he had chosen to ignore Malik's warning and struck Robert out in the open. His betrayal had only gone deeper when he left them there in that godforsaken room to be slaughtered.   
  
She sobbed loudly, loathing Altaïr with every fiber of her being. Samantha couldn't help but wish this was all a bad dream, that maybe she would wake up and find everything as it should have been. Kadar would be alive, joining her in an afternoon of sparring. Altaïr would be the man that she remembered him to be. One who was stoic, but deep down was caring and affectionate. That is how she wished she could remember him.   
  
Her surroundings and aching body did not allow her to.   
  
The sound of the iron door of her cell being unlocked made her look up curiously. She had been there for nearly two days with no contact other than to receive a few meager meals. One thing she had realized within these two days was that she was completely and utterly helpless. She had no weapons, no form of cover other than her tunic and pants, and nowhere to run. If the Templars wanted to kill her they could, and she couldn't stop them.   
  
Samantha's heart sunk as two soldiers walked in through the door, clearly not there to give her food.   
  
"'Ello there sweet'art," one of them said, his voice heavy with a British accent. He was short and thin, with greasy black hair falling into his eyes.   
  
She backed herself into the corner of the room, knees pulled up to her chest. Sam didn't know why they were there but it couldn't have been good.   
  
"Aw, now don' be like tha' love. We're just here to get a bit of information, righ', John?" The other man was much

taller and brutish looking, muscular, but simple minded.   
  
"Right you are, Bertram."   
  
Sam would not speak a word to them. Unlike Altaïr, she was not a traitor and would never be one. She didn't know what secrets they wanted from her, but they wouldn't get any of them.   
  
"Robert weren't too specific as to how we was to get this information though, other than we ain't supposed to bang ya or muss up that pretty lil' face of yours."   
  
Samantha said nothing. Her eyes were trained on the floor, trying desperately to ignore the erratic beating of her heart.    
  
"Well are ya gonna talk or no'? I ain't one for waitin' and I know plen'y of  ways to make ya."   
  
She remained silent. What could she do except weather the torture until she died or someone rescued her. Sam hugged her knees closer to her chest and glared at the floor; dying wasn't an option.   
  
“Fine then. Johnny, get 'er strung up," the smaller man ordered.   
  
Sam pushed herself in the corner as much as she could, and once the man had grabbed her wrists she began to kick and twist in his grasp. She was no match for his brute force, and without weapons her feet and hands were useless. She wondered briefly what medieval torture consisted of, probably whips and racks. Neither seemed appealing.   
  
Her hands were tied by rope, which was then hung on a hook on the wall, arms above her head. As anticipated, a whip was pulled out. John grasped the back of her tunic and ripped it apart, leaving her back exposed except for her chest bindings.   
  
"Oi!" Bertram called, "get those off too!"   
  
Samantha grimaced as the back of her bindings were ripped and fell to the ground.   
  
"Blimey." She could feel the shorter man's breath on her neck, "I fancy that's the most flawless back I've ever seen."   
  
"Fuck off.”   
  
The man laughed and she could feel the butt end of the whip being pressed against her lower back. "Still got a bit of fight in ya, do ya? Don' worry, it won't take long 'fore that spark dies.”   
  
Samantha groaned as her hands were freed from their bonds and she collapsed onto the ground. Every movement of her body, every breath, stretched the lacerations on her back further. It hurt more than she had ever imagined, not even her rage could prevent that. She didn't even know how long it had gone on, twenty minutes maybe even as long as an hour or more. Her vision blurred with tears and she whimpered from the pain streaking up her back.   
  
"Oi! Wench, come in 'ere and get this one cleaned up!" Bertram shouted as he and John left her cell.   
  
Sam was barely aware as another woman entered the room.   
  
“You must get up," she told her softly.   
  
The blonde obliged as the other woman helped her to her feet, her body protesting at every movement. She was led down the hallway and into a separate room. Inside was a steaming bath. Sam was in too much pain to wonder why she was being taken care of.   
  
The other woman took her gently by the arm and helped her pull off what was left of her tunic. Once she was stripped down to nothing Samantha tried to gingerly lower herself into the warm water. All was well until she reached her lower back and the water made contact with the open wounds. Sam hissed at the stinging sensation that shot through her.   
  
"Come," the woman told her kindly, "you must wash yourself and allow me to clean your wounds."   
  
Samantha knew she had to comply, lest the wounds on her back get infected. She realized then why they were doing this. If she stayed alive then they could question her longer, torture her longer, until she broke. With every inch she slid further into the water Sam whimpered and gripped the sides of the porcelain tub until her fingers began to hurt. Finally she was fully submerged and the other woman proceeded to wash her hair and back.   
  
She began to feel much better after exiting the bath; her muscles were relaxed and her back stung less than before. The woman who had been helping her immediately began lathering a sort of thick substance onto her wounds and wrapped her torso with bandages.   
  
Sam was reluctant to leave the room, but as soon as she was in a new tunic and loose pants a guard came to retrieve her. She was put back in her small cell. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the dirt ground, taking care not to lay on her back. Samantha was too tired to cry, too tired to think. Her body was numb other than the dull, throbbing pain from the wounds on her back and from where her ring finger had been. Her hazy vision quickly failed as she fell asleep.   
  
The next day came almost at once, and Samantha was reluctant to wake. She found that an annoying beam of light from a crack, no wider than her finger, in the wall shone right onto her face. Suppressing a groan, she rose into a sitting position. At once she wondered what torture she was going to be put through today.   
  
Morning came and went and she did nothing other than curl up and rest. Sam imagined life back home, before everything had changed. She remembered sitting in front of her fireplace as a child, playing with toy sets of knights on horses, as her dad showed her reenactments of ancient battles. They now seemed less ancient and much too real.   
  
She longed for even a moment back in her apartment. A soft bed would be waiting for her, with warm sheets and a gentle rain tapping on the windows.   
  
Maybe she had been wrong for wishing for something better, something more adventurous to do with her life. When she had read books and watched movies about epic journeys they had all seemed so marvelous and worthwhile. No one had ever bothered mentioning how much strength it took to go on, and how much self sacrifice was put into it.   
  
It was much easier to give up.   
  
The familiar sound of the iron door drew her attention. The two men entered as they had before, threatening her and asking for information about the assassins.   
  
Samantha did not speak, did not need to. She wasn't sure what secrets she might know if even she wanted to, and nothing she said would convince the two that she was clueless. They would torture her until she died and would still not get anything out of her. The two men had taken out daggers this time, slowly scoring her flesh with them every time that she refused to speak. By the end much of her right arm and shoulder were covered in blood and lacerations.   
  
They left after they had finished for the day.   
  
The same woman returned, taking Samantha away to clean her up once more. Again, the blonde didn't care enough to talk. She dressed numbly and was lead back to her cell by guards. Sam realized that this could only go on for so long and that her body could only take so much. Perhaps the sooner she died the better. It would only save her from more pain and suffering.   
  
For the first time, Samantha had given up.


End file.
